Finding Color
by Layla Crimson
Summary: Rose Tyler was supposed to have her happy ending, someone forgot to tell the universe that. Using her human Doctor's last gift to her she lands in a parallel world to start over again. When a woman who never existed starts popping around London she catches the attention of three individuals. One powerful, one dangerous, and one consulting detective. (Roselock)
1. Chapter 1

**Warning - First Chapter contains references to major character death and has lots of angst.**

****Huge thanks to my grammar goddess veritascara, who took the time and patience to fix the grammar on this for me, I very much appreciate her and owe her infinite hugs****

**-0-**

It was a gray day for Rose. The sun might have been shining. It might even be warm, with the sounds of birds in the air. There may have been flowers scenting the breeze, their bright colors standing out from the green of the grass. All of those things just might have been happening, but not for one Rose Tyler.

One year had passed since the accident that had drained all the color from her life. It was just a stupid accident–a wet rainy night, a car skidding out of control. Then the things that mattered most to her in all of the universes were gone: her mother, her father, her baby brother, and her husband of a bare two months–all of them gone in a flash.

How many times had she regretted telling them to go ahead, she'd catch up to them? If they had waited for her, maybe this would not have happened. If she had gone with them, then maybe she wouldn't be here alone. If, if, if. Her life seemed to be filled with nothing but ifs now. If the Doctor had never been shot by the Dalek, he would've kept her with him. If she had never slipped from the lever in the first place, they'd still be traveling together. Instead, she found herself trapped in a world, in a life, where she had lost her family and her human Doctor.

After the accident, she took control of Torchwood and made sure it was a living legacy to Pete and the Doctor. Pete had become her father; he had chosen her as his daughter in every way that mattered. She wasn't going to let Torchwood degrade into something he couldn't be proud of. She wasn't going to let it become the kind of organization her Doctor would feel compelled to take down. Even if the color was drained out of her life, she could still make the lives of people around her better. Rose could defend them–help them live happy lives.

Yet she wasn't really living; she just existed, working long hours and often forgetting to eat unless Jake made her. He was still there with her, a loyal friend and a staunch deputy to Torchwood. Oh, she smiled, and even fooled most people into thinking she was happy, but not him, not Jake, the one tie she had left to color and life. There was absolutely nothing romantic between them, only bonds that were forged in battle and shared grief. They believed in and wanted the same things for Torchwood. The difference was he still had a life; all she had was her job and defending the Earth. Rose Tyler already felt like her life was over, at the age of twenty-eight.

A soft rap sounded from her doorway, and she looked up to see Jake there. The blonde was studying her carefully, a box in his hands. His hair was styled the same spiky blonde as the day she had first met him. He still favored combat-ready gear over anything formal, and he wasn't afraid to be blunt when needed. Rose offered him a smile as he closed the distance to set the box on her desk.

Cocking an eyebrow, she looked down at it and then back up to Jake. "What's all this, then? Because if research is trying to pull another practical joke on me, I will have their tea and coffee substituted for blue Kool-Aid."

Jake didn't return her light smile; instead, his expression remained serious as he studied her. Rose was dressed in a posh suit and seemed comfortable in the director's office, but he could still see the faint signs dark circles under her eyes and the way her smile never quite reached her eyes. She was very good at faking it, but he knew her too well by now to be fooled. Rose wasn't getting any better. Something needed to happen; she needed to make a change. He removed the lid from the box and pulled out a small circular device that was slanted towards the top, only an inch high. He set it in the middle of her desk. "Fulfilling a promise I made a while back." Jake bit his lip, thinking over what to say next, "And Rose, whatever happens, whatever you decide, you have my complete support. I want you to be happy."

Puzzled, her eyebrows drew down and in. "Jake, what the heck are you talking about?" In response, he depressed a button in the center of the device and took a step back.

A twelve-inch-tall hologram of a very familiar person sprang to life from the center of the device. There he was, her Doctor. Messy, sticking-up brown hair, blue suit, sexy glasses–it was utterly him, down to the smile on his face. She felt as if all the air had been sucked out of the room as she stared at the image, which started to speak, "Hello, Rose, if you are seeing this, then something happened to me, and Jake kept his promise. I really hope you never have to see this, or you are watching this when we are old and gray and having a laugh. Ooh, there's a thought. I'm sure I'd look all distinguished and handsome even then."

He waggled his eyebrows at her and puffed up a little in a way that startled something between a sob and a laugh out of her, allowing her to breathe again. Then his expression went solemn, and he grimaced a little. "But if something has happened to me, I'm sorry, so sorry. I wanted to keep that promise of living our lives out together for our forever. You, Rose Tyler, have been through so much for me. I wanted to give you all the love and laughter you deserve. Sometimes, though, well, let's face it–quite often the universe isn't kind, and apparently it took me away from you. Whatever happened, I know it wasn't your fault; it couldn't be your fault. I know you would do whatever it took to keep us safe and together. You found me, remember?"

His image started to blur, and Rose realized it was from the tears brimming in her eyes. She wiped them away, not caring if anyone saw. She just wanted to drink in the sight of her Doctor, even if it was just a hologram.

The hologram remained silent a moment, as if knowing she would need time, and then started again, "So, if you are seeing this, I'm not there, and well, you might not being doing too well. If you were happy, living your life and moving on, then Jake wouldn't need to be showing this to you now like I asked him to. Don't yell at him for not showing it to you before; I asked him to wait at least a year if anything happened. He's been a good friend to both of us, and I know he'll know if you need it or not."

Rose looked up at Jake, who had moved around to the side of her desk. She stood and embraced him, his arms surrounding her in a warm hug. Her breath hitched once, and she leaned into him before turning back towards the hologram.

As before, it had waited a beat, perhaps to gather his words, or perhaps just because he knew Rose well enough to know how she might be reacting to things. "Sometimes home isn't a place; it is a person. And when we lose that person, it can be really hard to go on. Sometimes we need a change or a big kick in the bum to get us going and realizing what we are doing. When I lost . . ."

Here he paused, taking off his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose before continuing, "When we were separated, it took me a while to keep going. One of the things that did get me going was the fact I knew you would want me to. That's what I want for you. I want you to keep going, and I want you to have a wonderful, brilliant, beautiful life–a fantastic life, even."

The word fantastic brought a small smile to her face, and she leaned more into Jake, listening to the hologram. Her Doctor gave her a little grin when he said that, if a slightly sad one. "If you are seeing this, you are having a hard time having that life, and maybe what you need is a bit of a change. Weeellll, maybe you need a big change depending on how things are going. It took a very loud ginger yelling at me to get me moving. Blimey, Donna could slap almost as hard as your Mum."

This comment startled a giggle out of Rose. She knew it was just a recording, but it was all him–the babbling, the rambling off topic a little. It was all so very him, and it warmed a bit of the empty space inside her. The image put the glasses back on his face and rubbed his cheek for a moment, as if still feeling that slap.

"Anyways, I may have found something to give you a new adventure. There is a rift here, just like there is in our universe, and the rift is, as you know, a weak spot in the fabric of space and time. Sometimes, just sometimes, it gaps open a little bit, and people and things fall through. What I did was build a device that will take advantage of those gaps to take you through the rift . . . and possibly into another universe."

Rose's breath caught, eyes wide at the implications. The Doctor stuck his hands in his pockets now, his expression sober. "The thing is, I can't tell you where or when you will show up. You might show up in the past or future of Pete's World. You may show up in a totally different parallel universe–past, future, or present. There is a chance, mind you only a small chance, you'll end up in our original universe. You better believe that if that happens, I'm sure the TARDIS would find you and other me would be beyond happy to have you back. For him, it would be rather like the best Christmases and birthdays all rolled into one. Trust me, I would know."

The Doctor's shoulders slumped as Rose struggled with the implications. "You have to remember, Rose, that possibility is small. I really have no idea where you would end up. It might not be any place better. You probably would end up someplace where you just had to start over again. What I can tell you is that it would be someplace different."

Shrugging a little, the hologram gave her a bright smile. "You can always stay here, Rose. There are lots of people that care about you here, and I'm really proud of what you have accomplished. However, if it is too much, well, this was a way for me to offer you one last adventure. Whatever you decide, I recorded a few more messages for you here on the hologram. They are programmed to play after certain lengths of time, and whether you jump through the rift or not."

A few images popped up around him, detailing objects, as he continued, "I prepared a few things so you don't have to go empty-handed. You can take whatever fits in the backpack I put together for you, which is actually quite a bit." He grinned and scratched the back of his neck. "I may have made it a bit bigger on the inside for you. Whatever you decide, the gifts in it are for you, and I trust you to know what to do with them."

Dropping his hand, he ducked his head, looking down before looking back up earnestly at her. "Rose, I want you to know that I love you." A few tears slipped down her face at those words, but she kept her gaze fastened on the image. "I will always love you, no matter what happens. I will also always be proud of you. I hope you have a wonderful, brilliant life, not for me, but for yourself. Because you deserve that. Don't be alone. Make new friends, and well, don't be alone. I want you to be happy. Rose Tyler," he paused, a big smile flashing on his face, "you were fantastic." Somehow his grin grew even bigger. "You know what? So was I. And together, we were brilliant."

Much to Jake's relief, Rose took her time deciding what she wanted to do. The nineteen-year-old Rose may have had no trouble running off with a stranger to travel space and time. However, this Rose had many more responsibilities and a great deal of experience under her belt. The lure of a new adventure and a new beginning somewhere else proved to be too much for her. She desperately needed what this offered: a fresh start.

In the end, she took a month to make up her mind and another two to make all the arrangements. Vitex had a wonderful director, so she made no changes there. Rose just distributed some of the wealth amongst Pete's relatives. More of it went into trusts for injured Torchwood agents or for their families, if they died on the job. Some went to a trust for Torchwood itself, so it wouldn't be dependent on government support. Jake became the new director of Torchwood, and she made certain he would stay that way for the foreseeable future. He would ensure that Pete's and the Doctor's legacy stayed true.

Once all that was done, she liquidated anything extra of value, so she wouldn't start out destitute. Rose wasn't going to carry much cash. For one, she had the sonic the Doctor had made for her, which meant that if there was a cashpoint, she could liberate some funds. Secondly, currency here probably wasn't going to work wherever she ended up, so precious jewels and other items would be far more useful. Those she would convert to the local currency as soon as was feasibly possible. She also had the psychic paper that had been in her pocket at Canary Wharf.

Most people thought she was simply going to be off traveling, a sort of helping mission across the world. While the traveling part was true, and Rose would probably even be helping people along the way as she sought her fresh start, it wasn't going to look anything like what most people imagined. Jake–loyal, trustworthy, incredible Jake–knew the truth, and he would keep her secrets, all of them.

That was the hardest goodbye: the one between her and Jake. He had gone with her to Cardiff. The rift was there, after all–the best place for her to make transit. They stood there in the cool light of dawn, the sun just beginning to rise. It promised to be a spectacular day, but for Rose, it still felt a bit like gray nothingness. Jake was the only spot of color to her here. Even her own blue leather jacket and maroon jumper seemed colorless, though she knew in her mind they were each a vibrant hue.

They walked a short distance, and then something in her urged her to stop. She turned and gave Jake a half smile. Blowing out a breath, he gave her a good hard look. He still had some misgivings, but the prospect of this adventure had finally started to put the spark of life back into Rose. "Are you sure this is what you want?"

Rose looked up into Jake's worried face. Her smile got a bit bigger, and this time it started to reach her eyes. "Yeah, I am. I just can't stay, Jake. Not anymore. The Doctor gave me a chance at a new adventure, and I just can't turn it down."

They had been over all this, back and forth, for the past three months. Whatever misgivings Jake had, he knew that she needed it and that, in the end, it was her choice. He wasn't going to stand in her way. "Alright, Rose. Just promise me that you will take care of yourself and try to have that happy life."

He drew her into a hug, muffling her voice a bit as she answered into his neck, "I will. Take care of Torchwood and everyone for me. Don't forget me."

Pulling back, he gave her a smile. "No one is ever going to forget you, Rose Tyler." She finally pulled fully away from him, giving him a bright smile.

Rose removed a device the size of a small toaster from her bigger-on-the-inside pockets and carefully held it in her hands. Flipping the switches to turn it on, the lights on it slowly came to life. They glowed a soft green, showing everything was ready and good to go. Giving Jake one last smile, she moved away, so there was twenty feet between them. Her hand hovered over the button that would take her across the rift. The memory of her late husband's thirst for adventure made her lips twitch. Softly, to herself, she muttered, "Allons-y," and pushed the button.

Jake let out a pent up sigh when she vanished from sight. He didn't have a strong belief system, but still he sent up a little prayer that wherever Rose landed, she'd be safe. No, not safe, but happy, and finding the life and adventure she craved.

Rose felt a moment of gut-wrenching motion, and then she was suddenly someplace else–or, well, not really someplace else. Instead, she seemed to be pretty much in the same place as she was before she pushed the button. But there was no Jake there. It was the same time of day. Finally, she looked up, twisting around in every direction. Not a single zeppelin in the sky–that at least was different.

Walking around, she further took in her surroundings–nothing more than a quiet morning in what appeared to be Cardiff. Biting her lip, Rose considered her options. She could just stay here and try to suss things out. However, she was more familiar with London. Even if this were a parallel world, its "London" (if that was what it was) would be easier for her to figure out than this world's "Cardiff."

Rose stuffed the now-dead device in her pockets and made sure the backpack was firmly settled on her back. Pulling back the sleeve of her jacket, she started punching some buttons on a device strapped there. It wasn't a vortex manipulator; she couldn't travel through time. It was, however, her own personal teleport. It could send her in any direction in a limited range. Not enough to say, get her off planet, but just about anywhere on. It had a number of safety features built in, including the fact that it was locked to her biological signature, so only she could use it. It was one of the presents her Doctor had left for her. That way, no matter where she ended up, she wouldn't be trapped. It automatically stored the direction of the last location if she needed to jump back quickly. She also could set several default locations for emergency jumps, as well.

Taking a chance, she set the coordinates for what had been a park in Pete's World's London. There was a coffee shop and a library near that location. If she was lucky, this world would mirror that. If she was a little less lucky, it would hopefully be a discreet place to land. If she was a bit less lucky than that, well, at least the worst that could happen was that she would suddenly appear in front of a crowd. Safety features prevented her from materializing in a hostile environment or a wall.

Slapping her hand down on the button, she felt another gut-wrenching sensation, and then she landed. Luck seemed to be on her side. Rose couldn't count on it all the time, but for now she was in a park. Giving a quick glance around, she noticed a nearby cashpoint. A bright smile lit up her face as she made her way over there. A few minutes later, she walked away with hopefully enough cash to get her through a couple of days. Now to find a coffee or tea shop, and perhaps some internet-like access. If not that, then she needed a library for a bit of research, because she really needed to know more about her surroundings.

Briskly walking, her steps slowed as she noticed a homeless person sitting on one of the park benches in her path. If she had been less lucky, there was a chance she could have ended up in that position. So, while she didn't always give out money, she often did when she could. Pulling a couple of bills out, she offered them with a smile. "Cheers, mate. Get something to eat on me."

The person, a young woman, gave a nod and small smile of thanks, watching as Rose walked away. Her eyes were a bit wide, though, because she'd seen something that Rose was unaware of. You see, this particular person had managed to see Rose's arrival, her appearance out of thin air. Now most people wouldn't listen to the wild ramblings of a homeless person–perhaps thinking that they were drunk or high on drugs. So even if Rose had known she'd been seen, she wouldn't necessarily have thought much about it.

However, in this London, there lived someone who used the homeless as an information network. He knew which ones could be trusted to give reliable information, and he invested in them.

The young woman looked at the cash in her hand and then over to the cheap phone in her other hand. It wasn't much, but it was good enough to discreetly take a quick picture, which she did. Sure, the stranger had given her some cash, but there was no way of knowing if she ever would again. However, Sherlock Holmes, he would most likely give her cash again. Anything out of place interested him. And this just might get her a few more quid, if she reported it in. After a quick debate, she sent the picture and typed in the text.


	2. Chapter 2 - Being Noticed

**Something different comes to the attention of three different men, and John finds someone that looks like they need a friend.**

**Many thanks to my beta Veritascara, who helps me improve my writing, and then cleans up my grammar. **

**_-0-_**

_However, in this London, there lived someone who used the homeless as an information network. He knew which ones could be trusted to give reliable information, and he invested in them._

_The young woman looked at the cash in her hand and then over to the cheap phone in her other hand. It wasn't much, but it was good enough to discreetly take a quick picture, which she did. Sure, the stranger had given her some cash, but there was no way of knowing if she ever would again. However, Sherlock Holmes, he would most likely give her cash again. Anything out of place interested him. And this just might get her a few more quid, if she reported it in. After a quick debate, she sent the picture and typed in the text._

-0-

When the phone chimed in the overcoat pocket of a man with dark curly hair, it wasn't exactly the best of times for him to check it. At the moment, he happened to have a gun pointed at him, which was, oddly enough, a fairly common occurrence. Although, there would be those who would tell you that they were surprised it didn't happen _more_ often. He wasn't especially noted for politeness or basic tact. While it may have been poor timing for him to check it, it was actually good timing to receive it. The noise of phone going off momentarily distracted the man holding the gun, and it was all Sherlock needed to disarm and disable him.

He was currently in the middle of a case for his brother; in the middle of, well, it didn't much matter where at the moment. It only mattered in this instance that he was not in London and wouldn't be for several more days, at least. The man with the gun was just a momentary annoyance, which he quickly dealt with. That out of the way, he went about the business of solving the puzzle set before him.

It wasn't until much later that he did more than glance at the text and picture. He had settled for the evening into what passed for a hotel room. Fishing the phone out of the pocket of his overcoat, which he'd draped over the back of the chair, he sat down. Flipping through the texts with a slightly bored air, he came across that particular message. His first instinct was to outright dismiss it. After all, someone appearing out of thin air sounded like a stage magician's trick, a little misdirection, or the product of a drug-addled mind. However, the picture itself gave him a bit of pause.

There seemed to be some sort of distortion around the figure, which didn't quite match up. The picture of the woman only caught about a quarter of her face, yet the detail of her was at odds with the distortion around her. If there was something wrong with the camera on the phone, then the whole picture should be distorted. If she had been moving, then her figure ought to be distorted. It didn't come across as something caused by light, wind, or other outward influences. Camera phones were necessarily designed to focus on a moving figure clearly, in which case the background would be obscured. The pattern of the distortion itself didn't match with the typical blurred background. It could be some sort of computer-generated effect, but that would mean someone went to an awful lot of trouble with this.

There were a couple of possibilities as to why someone would send him a doctored photo and a story about a woman just appearing out of thin air. But it didn't make sense for this particular informant to send him an image that had been tampered with. Sure, it might get them an immediate reward, if he was inclined to do such a thing. However, when the tip was proven faulty or a hoax, they would lose out in the long term. He would simply stop relying on, and therefore paying, an informant who deliberately sent him false information. Someone could be setting this up as a distraction, which meant there was something going on which they were trying to distract him from. Granted, he was on a case now, but there were easier methods to try to distract him than an elaborate hoax.

The most logical answer was that this was intended to be a distraction for something going on in London. There was a slight chance that some unknown technology was in play, but that was highly unlikely. He would take the time to check for anything new, of course, which would at least help with the fact the case he was on was fairly well solved, and therefore, now boring. However, he would remain alert to try to figure out just what he was being distracted from, and by whom.

An hour later, he sat back from the laptop, having determined that no technology currently being developed could have caused the distortion. He had easily hacked his way through various databases of supposedly top-secret projects and companies to make sure of it. Later on, he should to mention to his brother Mycroft that he needed better security measures. He probably wouldn't, though. One or two gave him a little bit of a challenge. He supposed his informant deserved a bit of a reward. After all, he'd received a short bout of entertainment from it.

It might also encourage whomever was trying to sidetrack him to think they were succeeding. Too much pride often made people sloppy and promoted mistakes, thus making it easier for him to spot what was off. He could always cut off the informant later if nothing further came of it and it proved to be just a hoax.

There was something, however, about the picture that kept drawing his attention back to it. For one, the styles of the clothing were just a little bit wrong. They didn't quite fit with any recent fashion, and the clothing was neither completely new, nor vintage. It was possible that it was custom made; actually, that was the most logical answer there, as well. If he had more detail, he could potentially deduce more about the individual.

He sent the picture to his laptop and used a program to enlarge it and refine the detail. Interestingly enough, the distortion was not automatically smoothed out, as would have been expected with a typical doctored photo. Eventually, the details straightened out, but it was still an oddity. The woman's bearing spoke of some sort of military training, most likely private, rather than army. The bag on her back was custom made, and appeared to be only a quarter full. The quality of the bag and clothes spoke of someone with money, as did the fact that they were probably custom made. She was likely carrying a weapon somewhere on her person. Weight, height, and age were all easily discernable.

There the hard facts stopped, and he was left with only impressions. That made him more than a bit uncomfortable, and he decided there must be a logical reason to have those impressions, as he couldn't help the fact that they kept coming to him. He would just need to figure it out. The words "traveler," "secrets," "lost," and "alone" jumped out at him. The vivid blue-purple of her jacket seared itself into his mind.

Closing the laptop, he sat back in the chair, arms braced on the armrests and fingertips touching in front of him. He could blame the fact that the picture intrigued him on the notion that information on her would lead to whomever was behind this distraction or hoax. He was being shown this, but why? This puzzle pulled him in–fixated his mind on her image. Fortunately, he could wrap up Mycroft's case tomorrow and head home. The enigma he now faced appeared vastly more entertaining.

~~~~~

Rose tucked the apple she had purchased into her pocket and started walking down the sidewalk. She had no particular destination in mind at the moment. Instead, she was more or less trying to acclimate herself to her new surroundings.

Her first day had gone surprisingly smoothly; Rose's laptop was easily able to pick up the internet and access the information she needed. It seemed history here closely matched that of her home universe, with the marked lack of any real alien sightings–no Cybermen, no Daleks, not even a whisper of a Slitheen, at least nothing from the readily available information. The more covert and discreet information would take time to uncover, unless she wanted to trip alarms. She was able to discover that there was no Rose Tyler in this world that she could find–at least not a parallel her. The Rose Tylers that existed in the universe were too old, too young, wrong family, wrong ethnicity to be her. So she could at least use her own name without worry.

Well, she could use it without worry once she had established an identity for herself. Again, she must try to go about it cautiously, slowly, so as to not raise any red flags. Granted, the psychic paper was a great deal of help and functioned as her temporary ID for anything she needed, so technically, she didn't have to hurry. She had no real need for a job, having plenty of valuables to trade for currency. And Rose possessed a number of tools for healing herself if she was injured. She even had the AI on the laptop assessing current technology levels in order to ascertain if any of the designs she had were something she could bargain with.

Having reached a park, Rose settled herself on one of the benches, shifting her backpack to her lap and wrapping her arms around it. She had a room in a hotel for now, but she didn't want to leave it there. Luckily, it didn't weigh much and wasn't a bother to carry, thanks to the work her Doctor had put into it.

At that thought, a sort of bleakness settled over her. No zeppelins here, but no Doctor either–neither the one that she had lost due to accident, nor the one who had left her behind. Really, there was nothing more here for her than there had been in the last universe–less, actually. She was in this universe, but not yet a part of it.

~~~~~

John Watson had walked out for a stroll, just to enjoy the day. Sherlock hadn't returned yet from wherever he had gone on his case, and he wasn't scheduled to be at the surgery this afternoon. He'd already updated his blog. There really was nothing for him to do at the moment. So he made up his mind to go out, wander around a bit, maybe hit a pub.

At least, that was the plan until he spotted the woman on the bench. She was blonde, wearing an odd bluish-purple jacket and hugging a backpack to her chest. However, that's not what caught his attention: it was the expression on her face. He could have best described it as the look of someone utterly lost–a look that he readily recognized from his own face, shortly after being discharged. He had even seen it on Sherlock himself a time or two, but never so strongly as he did now on this beautiful woman. She seemed so utterly alone.

Before he could even think about it, he found himself walking over, drawn in to speak to her.

"You alright?"

She looked up at him with the startled expression of someone who had been deep in thought before being disturbed. A faint flush appeared briefly on her cheeks, but it faded quickly, a neutral expression sliding into pace. She gave him a polite smile, "M'fine, ta."

Shifting his weight from foot to foot, he studied her for a moment, not quite buying her statement. Something tugged at him, and he didn't want to just walk off. "You sure? Because, well . . ." A touch awkwardly, he shrugged, "You looked a bit lost. I remember when I first came back from the service. Readjusting to London was a bit difficult, but I didn't really want to go anywhere else."

He seemed to have firmly caught her attention because she gave him an intense, measuring look, very similar to the ones he saw Sherlock give at times, when figuring things out.  
"I was just thinking of heading to the pub for a drink or to get a bite to eat. You are welcome to join me if you want."

The blonde hesitated, and her right hand went to her left, fiddling with a dark ring on her ring finger. "Thing is, m'not looking for a date."

"Oh, oh! Oh, no, not what I meant at all," John verbally backpedaled, hands in the air, palms out. "You just look like you can use a friend–not interested in anything more." Oddly enough, John knew he spoke the utter truth. She was attractive, yes, and normally he would be interested because the ring did not look like a wedding band. But for some intrinsic reason he just didn't feel drawn to her that way.

He could see her wavering, so he offered a smile, sticking his hands in his pockets. "Come on. You aren't going to make me eat by myself, are you? Rather pathetic at times–some bloke just sitting alone. You can come save me from myself."

At that she laughed, rising from the bench and swinging the bag on her back. "Well, m'not one to leave a damsel in distress." She gave him a bright grin, and it warmed him to see it start to go all the way up to her eyes.

"Well, it's not every day a bloke gets to meet a knight in shining armor." As he hoped, she laughed again and then reached out, offering her hand, "I'm Rose."

"Nice to meet you, Rose. I'm John Watson." He gave her a grin, releasing her hand to point up the street. "There is a decent place just up the street. Shall we?"

Her expression sobered, though he could catch a small twinkle in her eyes. "I've got just one really important question."

Holding up one hand, his own face smoothed out, though he kept his mood light. "I swear I'm not a mass murderer or out to steal anything. I even know an inspector who can vouch for me." Then he frowned slightly, but gave a small laugh, "Actually, I'd better not; I'm not really sure what kind of character witness he would be."

The smile crept back up her face. "Good to know, but that's not my question."

"What is it, then?" John gave her a questioning look.

"Do they serve chips?"

~~~~~

"Sir?"

A man dressed in a fine suit looked up as an aide entered his office. He wasn't an especially imposing man, appearance wise. He was dressed neatly in an expensive suit, neither over nor under weight. There was, however, a faint aura about him, one that spoke of great intelligence and authority. "Yes?"

The aide was dressed in a fine suit, as well, and had a confident air, but nothing like the man he was addressing. "There was a hack today that went through both military and private sector databases. Nothing was taken; they just seemed to be looking at the latest technological advances."

A faint irritation was audible in the man's tone and expression as he replied, "So my brother, most likely. I'll have to chide him on his sloppy skills at getting noticed." He started to pull out his phone.

Now the young man became slightly nervous. "Sir, that is the thing. The reason we picked it up is because it wasn't actually one hack: it was two. As far as we can tell, they were from separate sources. However, when we tried to back track, they vanished."

He sat up straighter, gaze intent, although the irritation was still in place. "Were there any links to known hackers to the two breaches?"

"That's the thing, sir; while we think the one was your brother, the other was completely unknown to us." He swallowed, knowing Mycroft Holmes was not going to like the next part, "And the thing is, we have no idea who it could be."

"Why not?" Mycroft's tone had a bit of bite to it.

"It wasn't like anything we had seen before, so we started looking for other signs. When we put the system on high alert, a few more alarms were tripped by an unauthorized individual trying to gain access, but we still couldn't tell anything about them. They . . . ate the security program virus that tried to counter attack them. The only reason we picked up on the one hack at all, was it came at the same time as your brother's." There was silence for a beat when the aide finished talking.

"So to clarify, no information was stolen or corrupted, only looked at. The security measures in place were insufficient to deter whomever was behind the breach. Whatever was sent after the hacker, the hacker destroyed?" His voice was level, but the irritation in Mycroft's tone grew a bit stronger.

"That is correct, sir." He watched carefully, waiting for the orders to come.

"Put our best people on it, and when they infiltrate again, have them locate the hacker, and let me know immediately." Mycroft looked down at his phone, starting to type into it.

"You think there will be another breach, sir?"

"Obviously," glancing back up at the aide, a hint of disdain colored his tone. "They didn't try to draw attention to their infiltration, so they were not trying to impress me. They obviously were scouting our defenses and will be back for whatever they are after. You make sure we are ready."

"Yes, sir."

As the aide left the room, Mycroft turned his attention back to his phone. Now he just needed to suitably chastise his brother and pique his interest in the hacker. There were a number of ways to do that, and important two reasons why. One, his brother was best kept occupied to prevent him from becoming self destructive. Two, Sherlock was almost intelligent as he was himself and had a talent for investigating. He didn't smile when it came to him; he merely typed in the text. The chime indicating that he had received a reply came shortly after he had sent it.

Stop trying to teach John how to hack computers; he's not very good at it. The both of you trying to infiltrate at once was fairly obvious.  
MH

I'm not trying to teach John how to hack computers; he'd be rubbish at it. What do you mean both trying to infiltrate at once?  
SH

Caught your earlier hack. Thought you were being sloppy on purpose to try and hide the secondary hack.  
MH

I wasn't being sloppy; your system was too easy to get into.  
SH

Someone must have been trying to use your hack to cover their own. Interesting. I'll take care of it.  
MH

Done, he sat back with a very slight smile of satisfaction. That should sufficiently gain his brother's interest and hopefully keep him occupied for a while.

~~~~~

The spider sat in his lair, surveying the web that covered his dominion with a hint of satisfaction regarding how far it covered and how deeply it went. However, there wasn't any challenge there, no real entertainment. That is, until something vibrated one of the strings.

John Watson in himself wasn't very entertaining–an ordinary man with ordinary ways and intelligence. On his own, he didn't rate any concern. His potential usefulness as a tool against Sherlock, however, presented much more value. So he was watched and his associations noted as possible leverage to use in the future.

However, this time John Watson, somehow in his ordinary life, had managed to stumble on to something rather extraordinary, something that just wasn't possible: he had found a woman who did not exist. There were no records attached to her picture; no pictures at all before yesterday could be located. He had the most sophisticated searches at his fingertips, and they could find nothing about her. The other extraordinary thing appeared to be some sort of distortion around her image–not visible in person, it manifested only in recordings. This could be useful.

Hopefully, she stayed interesting. If not, any tool can be used and discarded.


	3. Chapter 3 - Conversation and Texts

**John and Rose have some dinner conversation before Rose wanders off.**

**Many thanks to the lovely Veritascara, for slogging through grammar corrections**

**-0-**

_However, this time John Watson, somehow in his ordinary life, had managed to stumble on to something rather extraordinary, something that just wasn't possible: he had found a woman who did not exist. There were no records attached to her picture; no pictures at all before yesterday could be located. He had the most sophisticated searches at his fingertips, and they could find nothing about her. The other extraordinary thing appeared to be some sort of distortion around her image–not visible in person, it manifested only in recordings. This could be useful._

_Hopefully, she stayed interesting. If not, any tool can be used and discarded._

~~~~~

Within minutes, John relaxed and found himself talking to Rose about, well, everything. After they had settled into the pub, she had simply asked him a question or two, and suddenly he was at ease, and they were talking–well, mostly about him, his work, his life in London, his past as a soldier and so forth. Though he saw a slight reaction when he told her he was a doctor, it didn't seem like his profession bothered her. It wasn't until they were almost done with their chips that he realized he had been chatting as if to an old and trusted friend. He sat back and looked at her with a bit of wonder. "How do you do that?"

"Do what?" Rose looked at him, puzzled, neatly eating her last chip.

"Do this," John waved a hand between them. "We just sat down, and I end up telling you all about myself, while you've hardly said anything about you."

She flashed him a grin, a bit of humor lurking in her eyes. "Most people like talking about themselves, so if you are willing to listen, all you need is a question or two."

He gave a small shake of his head as his phone chimed and pulled it out of his pocket. "Like to talk about, maybe, but it is not that easy to get people to just relax and open up like you did."

Rose jerked her shoulders in a casual shrug. "I like listening. You can find out all sorts of int'resting things listening. Plus, it makes people more comfortable. 'Sides, you aren't that bad. I had a friend that had more than a bit of a gob on him. Could outtalk anything, that one. It got him into trouble and then back out again, at times." A trace of sorrow flickered through her eyes, despite the fondness in her tone.

John caught that flicker and set his phone to the side, focusing on her. "I bet you had to get him out of trouble a time or two all by yourself."

Rose gave a fond smile and rolled her eyes. "More than a few, but it was worth it. He took me traveling; we went around and saved people, getting into trouble in the process. We took turns saving each other, really. He taught me a better way of living."

"You sound like you miss it–must have been quite the life." The phone on the table next to John chimed again, and he ignored it. "Think you will ever go back to that?"

As she shook her head, her expression became more guarded. "No, it isn't possible. Not like it was, anyways. Maybe I'll travel again, but not with him, not like that."

He didn't know her well enough yet to offer a sympathetic ear. He wasn't sure if that would be a good idea or not. Still, he could try asking a few more questions, try to get her to open up. If nothing else, maybe get the smile back. Rose looked like she could use more smiles in her life. "Well, if you get really bored, there are always the tour groups around London. You have to be careful, though; they say some of the food is a bit dodgy."

The guarded expression vanished, and her eyes lit up with an amused smile. "Oh, I'm rubbish with tour groups. Always wandering off, that's me. Bit of a rule breaker. But what fun are rules, anyways? Best way to get to know a place is just jump right in–eat the food, talk to the locals, and kiss a few strangers." Now real amusement beamed on her face. "Get arrested a few times . . ."

"Arrested, really?" John couldn't help but laugh and smile back. "What on earth did you do to get yourself tossed into jail?"

"Which time?" The tip of her tongue stuck out of her grin at his incredulous expression. "Mostly it was cultural misunderstandings. Had to make a break for it a time or two, but most of them were easily resolved."

"Well, maybe I need to warn our local police force about you, then." She laughed at his joke, and he smiled, happy to have gotten her to relax. "You could still go around helping people, if that is what you wanted to do. There are lots of ways to do that."

"True." Thoughtful, Rose cupped her hands around her glass. "Did a bit of that in my old job–was sort of a private security firm, mostly aimed at helping foreign travelers. The work I did traveling helped quite a bit with that."

"That sounds like quite the job. Why did you leave?"

Before Rose could answer his question, his phone chimed yet again on the table, causing Rose to shoot it an amused look. "Need to get that?"

With an exasperated sigh, John reached over to pick his phone back up. "It's just my flat mate; he tends to do that when he gets bored or needs something. He's not very good at considering that he might be interrupting other people. Come to think of it, he's not really good with personal boundaries, either."

"Really?" Rose didn't bother hiding her amusement. "Sounds the guy I used to travel with. Well, no worries, I'm used to it. I'll go get us more drinks, and you can answer that."

John shook his head, "Rose, you don't have to do that. Really."

"I don't mind. You can tell me about him when I get back. Besides, if he is anything like my friend, he'll just keep at it until you reply, anyway." As if on cue, the phone chimed with another text message, and Rose laughed. "See? I'll be right back."

"Fine, but when you come back, we're trading those stories–not just me talking." As Rose collected their glasses and headed towards the bar, John started scrolling through his texts.

Almost done with Mycroft's case, bored now.  
SH

Anything unusual happening there in London?  
SH

Have a possible case for when I get back.  
SH

Still bored.  
SH

With an irritated sound, John started texting him back.

Busy at the moment, at dinner with a friend. Why don't you check online if anything is happening in London.  
JW

Already did that, it was boring.  
SW

Well I haven't heard anything and I'm busy with dinner.  
JW

Who are you meeting for dinner anyways? It's not your sister, Lestrade is working on a boring case, Molly is at the morgue, and Mrs. Hudson is at home.  
SH

I have more friends than that. When were you so interested in my personal life anyways?  
JW

No you don't. Not since that last date with the woman with small dogs.  
SH

Yes I do. I'm going back to my dinner now. I'll do whatever research later.  
JW

Still bored.  
SH

Why don't you think up a new experiment and ask Molly if she has anything for you. I won't even complain as long as you keep it sealed up.  
JW

When the phone didn't chime again, he tucked it back into his pocket with a sigh just as Rose returned with their drinks. "Found something to keep him busy?"

"Hopefully," John said without much actual hope in his voice. He took his drink with a nod of thanks. "Truth to be told, I probably just sent him to go bother someone else for a bit, instead."

Rose laughed at that, sitting back with her drink. "Yeah, definitely sounds like the friend I used to travel with. He didn't sleep a lot and had the nasty habit of bursting into my room when he thought I had slept enough to be dragged off on the next adventure."

"That sounds exactly like Sherlock. Well, at least you'll be used to it when it happens, because I guarantee if you stay my friend, he'll end up interrupting something sooner rather than later. Ruined several dates, he did. Makes it rather difficult to chat a girl up when he's busy talking about crime scenes and corpses. Don't get me started on his experiments." With another eye roll, John took a drink.

The words "Sherlock," "crime," and the fact that she was having dinner with John Watson clicked together in her mind. Slowly, she put her tankard down, giving John an odd look. "Are you having me on?"

"Pardon?" John shot her a confused expression.

"Your flatmate–his name is Sherlock and talks about crimes and corpses?" John's expression cleared a little at her question.

"Oh, sorry. Sherlock's not like a murderer or anything like that; he's a sort of . . . consulting detective. Takes on cases and sometimes helps solve crimes when the police are stumped. Though I probably shouldn't say much more than that," John offered.

Roes gave him a good long look that had John shifting a little in his seat. "So your flat mate, he's what, Sherlock Holmes?"

"Yes, why? Have you read my blog?" John braced himself; this could be very good or very bad.

Several possibilities ran rapidly through Rose's mind. First, that this guy was an escaped mental patient, but he didn't come across as someone with mental issues, other than being a soldier. Two, he was trying to play some elaborate joke on her, which also didn't ring quite true. John seemed too puzzled and too sincere for that, and possessed no real motivation that might lead him to play a joke like that on her. The third possibility, she had landed in a universe where Sherlock Holmes and John Watson were not fictional characters, but real people. Goodness knows her life would seem like a strange science fiction tale to anyone. So why not a universe where a fictional character was quite real?

"No," Rose began slowly. "Can't say that I have. I have heard about his cases, though. Possible that someone else told me." She then leaned forward with a bit of a grin. "So tell me, is he really that brilliant?"

"Yes, he's that good. At least when it comes to solving crimes. He's not so good when it comes to interacting with people. Like I said, you'll end up meeting him sooner or later." John watched her carefully as he talked.

Sitting back, Rose grinned widely. "I'm used to that. The guy I traveled with, complete genius, but had the manners sometimes of a hyperactive toddler. Oh, he used to drive me mad sometimes; he could be both moody and manic. He actually became less moody. Never stopped being rude, though."

Relaxing, John shook his head with a smile, "That sounds like Sherlock. I guess I don't have to warn you about him, then. Sounds like you already know how to handle someone like that."

"Yeah, I do." For a moment Rose's expression slid towards something heartbreakingly wistful. "Be ready to run into danger at a moment's notice. You have to know the right questions to ask to help him think, or when to just let him think. When he is being moody, know when to leave him alone and when he needs a hand to hold. Give 'im the occasional ego boost, because God knows genius loves an audience. Last but not least, know when to stand up to him and tell him to get his head out of his arse."

John's jaw wanted to drop at her description. "Are you sure you don't know Sherlock? Because that sounds exactly right. Well, except for the hand holding bit–not too sure he'd be keen on that." Imagining Sherlock's expression if John tried to hold his hand was enough to need to hold back a laugh.

"I'm sure, mate." Her smile returned, the wistful expression banished. "Like I said, the guy I traveled with was just like that." Her hand went to her neck, fingertips brushing over a gold chain that disappeared under her shirt.

In her, John began to sense a sort of kindred spirit, one that could probably deal with whatever Sherlock threw at her. The motion of her hand–her touch on the gold chain–didn't escape his notice, so he decided to pry a bit gently, "Bit more than a friend, was he?"

She went utterly still for a moment and then relaxed. "It's a very long and complicated story; doesn't matter much–lost him in the end." The light in her eyes dimmed again. "I lost everyone, really. I wasn't doing well, decided it was time for a change, and, well, used his last gift and ended up here. Trying for a fresh start. It's time for me to start living again."

John sat his drink down and pulled out his small pad of paper and a pen. "Well, you have at least one friend here now, so you aren't quite alone." He began writing on the paper, tore it off the pad, and offered it to her. "Here, my mobile. You need a friend or someone to talk to, just let me know."

Slowly, she took it, the light peeking out behind the clouds in her eyes. "Thank you. I really don't know what else to say, but thank you. Strange. You only just met me, and you really do seem like you want to help."

"I know what it's like, needing to start over." John gave a deprecating shrug. "And, well, sometimes people just sweep into your life, and you end up on a grand new adventure."

He was thinking about his own meeting with Sherlock, but for Rose, his words also invoked meeting the Doctor. She gave a small smile. "I s'pose you are right. Thanks, John. I have to pick up a mobile. Mine's not working right. When I do, I'll give you a call or a text so you have the number.

The phone in John's pocket chimed again, causing Rose's smile to flash wider. "Apparently, he wasn't diverted for long."

"Bloody hell," John groaned.

Rose shook her head, taking a moment to drain her drink. "Don't worry about it. I'm about ready for a walk, anyways. I want to think. Too used to running at the drop of a hat, I guess–makes me restless at times."

"If you are sure, and I warn you, if you do end up meeting Sherlock, and he gets your number, you are likely to get texts like this as well," he replied, his tone laced with both exasperation and a touch of affection.

Rose just shrugged her shoulders. "Like I told you, I'm used to dealing with moody geniuses. If he aggravates me enough, I'll just tell him to sod off."

John looked at her with a trace of wonder for a moment. "You know, I think you would, and it would be good for him."

Rose grinned and gave a mock salute as she headed off. "Good luck, John. I'll be seeing you."

John watched her go, finally turning back to read the text on his phone.

Molly has something for you to pick up. Bored now.  
SH

Muttering something uncomplimentary under his breath, John headed off to the morgue.

~~~~~

Rose walked down the street, backpack resettled on her back. Even as she processed her conversation with John, she kept an awareness of her surroundings–the traffic, or lack thereof, other people out on the sidewalk, and all the sounds and smells surrounding her. It was second nature now and had been part of her Torchwood training. This kind of awareness had saved her life more than once while traveling. It did not, however, extend to any cameras that might have been watching her. She was good, but not omniscient.

A part of the conversation with John had really resonated within Rose. John was right; she could still do some good in the world. Just because she didn't have her Doctor anymore or the resources of Torchwood, didn't mean she was helpless. She didn't need to save the world, in order to save someone's world. Sometimes, it wasn't the big things; it was the little ones that meant the most.

Something prickled her awareness, and she pulled herself out of her thoughts. Nothing seemed off, yet something was drawing her attention. Carefully, she tucked her hands into her pockets, which held any number of useful items, if danger presented itself. Everything appeared calm, normal, even. It made her wonder just what it was that had tried to catch her attention. Then, across the street, a youth sprinted forward, grabbing a woman's handbag, jerking it free, and taking off with it. The woman screeched, and Rose knew she was too far away to run down the thief herself.

That's when her hand closed around the apple in her pocket. Pulling it out, she quickly whipped her arm forward, aiming for the back of his head. It nailed him, causing him to stumble and fall. He tried to scramble quickly to his feet, but the woman he robbed was no wilting flower and had almost caught up with him. He could try to get away with the bag and risk getting caught, or leave the bag and be more likely to escape. He chose to leave the bag behind.

Rose smiled to herself, just continuing to walk, not drawing any attention. The woman across the street scooped up her handbag and looked around. She didn't appear to have spotted her savior, just crowds of people walking by. Yes, sometimes it was small, semi-ordinary deeds that could save someone's world.

The smile stayed on Rose's face as she headed to get her own mobile and then back to the hotel. She'd wait to text John, tomorrow maybe. For now, she had some research to check on and possibilities spreading before her. Maybe, just maybe, things were looking up.

~~~~~

The woman on the street might not have caught the throw, but a camera did. Sitting back, the spider in his web watched the video. It was odd, this stranger who didn't exist, using something so ordinary to save some bit of nothing and not stopping to gain any reward.

The slight distortion on the video around her form–it didn't seem to be around anyone but her. No matter which camera caught it, it was still there. Yes, this woman bore watching.


	4. Chapter 4 - Analysis

**Huge thanks to veritascara for fixing this chapter for me.**

**We meet Rose's AI, Sherlock is home and drags John out on investigation.**

**-0-**

_The woman on the street might not have caught the throw, but a camera did. Sitting back, the spider in his web watched the video. It was odd, this stranger who didn't exist, using something so ordinary to save some bit of nothing and not stopping to gain any reward._

_The slight distortion on the video around her form–it didn't seem to be around anyone but her. No matter which camera caught it, it was still there. Yes, this woman bore watching._

~~~~~

Rose slipped into her hotel room, dropping her backpack onto the bed. It wasn't a horribly posh place, just someplace decent enough that she didn't have to worry about the condition the room was in when she got there. She was by no means the spoiled society princess she could have become with Pete's money and position in his universe. Instead, between Torchwood training and some of the more interesting accommodations that the Doctor had landed them in, the hotel was practically the lap of luxury. Granted, she had been in some very luxurious places, but she wasn't fussy, and her needs were simple.

Carefully opening her backpack up, she fished out her new cell phone and set up to charge it. Picking up a cell phone was easy enough, and she had enjoyed finding one that would suit all of her needs. In a fit of whimsy, she'd bought a blue casing that was almost the exact shade of the TARDIS. She missed the ship who had been as much a friend as she'd been a home. This was just a little way to carry some of those memories with her.

That done, she pulled out her laptop and sat cross-legged on the bed. Carefully settling it on her lap, she ran her finger along the biometric lock. Recognizing her DNA, the lock opened, and the laptop's screen flashed to life. With a small smile, her fingers deftly flew across the keys in the pattern programmed to activate the AI's vocal interface. "Hello, IDRIS. What did you find for me today?"

"Hello, Rose. Several analyses are complete. Would you like me to summarize them for you?" She smiled to hear her Doctor's voice. The first time it had happened, it hurt, and she had immediately turned it off, swapping it for a more generic female voice. Then one day, just wanting to hear him talking to her, she restored it. It had stung a bit, hearing his voice again, but time had lessened the ache. Every day it got a bit easier, and it helped her feel like a part of him was still with her, which is probably what he had intended when he built it.

"Yes, please. No priority on order. It's not like I'm in a rush." With a small shrug, Rose scooted back on the bed, wedging the pillow up behind her to lean against.

"Weeeeeellllllll, it should be a rather simple endeavor to create your identity and insert it into the systems. This is especially true since you have the teleporter you could use after hours to insert hard copies into the appropriate files." Rose heard a slight hesitancy in the AI's Doctor's voice and gave a small quirk of her lips.

"I sense a complication coming here," she responded dryly.

"Yep," the AI replied, popping the p the same way the Doctor always had. But underneath, she could hear a slight unhappiness in its voice. "It seems either I tripped something in my searches, or someone else did, as the systems are now on high alert."

"Well, isn't that just wizard." Rose refrained from groaning. Of course, nothing could ever be simple. "Well, let's put that on hold for the moment. We have time, after all. Maybe if nothing happens, they'll relax, and we can resume."

Brightening slightly, another idea occurred to Rose. "IDRIS, set some of your own security measures in place to track another hacker. If we catch someone doing something they shouldn't, might earn us a bit of goodwill. Either way, it is a good idea to make sure no one is coming after you."

"Easily done. Some of the security systems already tried to come after me. I'm afraid I was a bit cleverer than they expected." The AI's tone bore a touch of smugness. "I am brilliant, after all."

Rose couldn't quite help laughing at that. "Well, your tech is more advanced than anything they're going to see for centuries." Mentally shifting plans around, she moved to the next item. "Alright, what do you have for me on tech?"

"The good news is I'm pretty sure some of the lowest level items we brought with us will be highly marketable. They will only be a hair above the level they are at now, so it won't be interfering with the development of this universe at all. We have enough designs stored on the hard drive to make us useful for quite some time. Now, there is one small snag. There are hints of computer systems that are kept isolated. I really don't know what tech is on those," it replied, sounding almost apologetic now.

"Isolated. Hmmm, means you need a physical link-up to access." Mulling it over out loud, Rose continued, "We can cope with that. Be as discreet as you can, but find me the best possible company or person to negotiate with. If we have to physically get into a location, we have options–either somehow getting in during the day or using the transport at night."

"I can always shut down security cameras for the whole building in a way that makes it look like a glitch." The smugness returned to the AI's tone. "That way, if we have to jump in at night, they don't see where we end up."

"Hopefully we won't have to use it, but good to know. Alright, I s'pose everything is good for now." Rose tried not to sigh, looking out of the window of her hotel room. "Just keep an eye out for snoops and work on those items."

Her eyes dropped and landed on the charging phone. A small smile twitched her lips. "You said history here is almost identical to universe prime, correct?"

"Just about," the AI answered cheerfully.

"I think I found an interesting difference. Look up a blog for me on a John Watson–Dr. John Watson. It will talk about solving cases with one Sherlock Holmes." Rose waited for the AI's reaction.

"Those are fictional characters, Rose," The AI returned, its voice a bit flat.

"Apparently they are real people here."

"Really?" it said, with bright traces of excitement, reminding Rose of how enthused her Doctor could be. "I found it. You are correct; there is a blog of a John Watson. Would you like me to read it out loud for you?"

"Please." Rose relaxed back as it began reading to her, basking in the sound of her Doctor's voice washing over her. He was still looking after her, even now. She couldn't let herself forget, though, that he wasn't really here; she was essentially on her own. Still, for this moment she could close her eyes and picture the last time he had read to her, like a remembered piece of a vibrant dream.

~~~~~

The next day, when John got home from the surgery, he was greeted by the sight of his flatmate hunched over a laptop. Not an unusual sight in itself, except for the fact that Sherlock was actually using his own laptop for a change. "How was your trip, then?"

Pulling off his coat, John hung it up, watching as Sherlock remained bent over the laptop. "I hate airports–far too busy, ridiculous flight schedules. A five-year-old could do better scheduling."

"Your flight was delayed, then. Always annoying. Did you at least manage not to annoy the pilot and the flight attendants this time?" John moved behind the other man to take a quick look at the screen. Sherlock appeared to be accessing a lot of sites rapidly, making it difficult to figure out what he was actually doing.

"Why do people always need to state the obvious? If I'm complaining about the schedules, then it's logical that something went wrong with them," he replied, with a trace of irritation.

"That's a no, then, on my question." The quick glance Sherlock sent his direction was enough to let John know he was right. With an amused smile, John started towards the kitchen, only to stop dead in the middle of it.

"In the sink. Really, Sherlock, why did it have to be in the sink?" Exasperation laced John's voice.

"You said you wouldn't complain." Irritation gone, Sherlock's tone now held a thread of dry amusement.

"I said 'as long as you kept it covered.' Does this look covered to you?" John gestured in the direction of the sink.

"I needed to test the levels of viscosity over time with exposure to air, and we didn't have a bowl big enough." Sherlock kept his eyes trained on the laptop, rapidly flicking them back and forth as he took in whatever he was watching.

"That's because you melted the last one."

"Hmmm, yes. We do need to replace that."

John crossed his arms over his chest. "_You_ need to replace that. I'm not buying more bowls just for you to ruin them with your experiments." When Sherlock failed to comment, John uncrossed his arms and moved over to the couch to pick up the newspaper. "At least you are using your own laptop for a change."

"Yours wasn't powerful enough." At Sherlock's response, John lowered the newspaper.

"What do you mean mine isn't powerful enough? What are you doing?"

"Just some research . . ."

"Really? Just what kind of research are you doing, Sherlock? Because I can't recall you ever doing any kind of actual research that required a more powerful computer."

Ignoring the question, Sherlock shut the laptop and got up, moving over to the coat rack. Picking up his scarf, he put it on, giving John an expectant look. "Coming?"

"Would help if you told me where we are going." John put down the newspaper and moved to put his own coat on.

"To the park," Sherlock called over his shoulder as he started down the stairs, tugging his coat on.

"Why the park?" Baffled, John followed him.

"I received a text on my phone about a woman appearing out of thin air. At first, I took it to be a complete joke, but then I got the picture." Once on the street, surprisingly, Sherlock did not hail a cab. Instead, he started marching down the sidewalk.

"You received a picture of someone appearing out of thin air?" John fell into step next to him.

"Don't be ridiculous, John. You can't get a picture of someone suddenly appearing; you could only get video of that."

"Then what was the picture of?"

"The picture was of the woman who supposedly appeared out of thin air. There was a distortion in the picture I couldn't account for. It wasn't a natural phenomenon, nor was it manipulated by a computer, as far as I can tell. I tried to find a device that might cause the distortion, but I couldn't find that either." Shoving his hands in his pockets, Sherlock crossed the street, dodging traffic.

"So maybe she really did just appear out of thin air." Following along, John occasionally glanced around at the people and buildings they passed.

"I didn't say that. There isn't anything capable of actually producing someone out of thin air."

"What about unknown technology?" When Sherlock just shot him a glance, it dawned on John what he may have been doing with the laptop. "That's what you were looking for. Did you find anything?"

"No, and I didn't find anything even close to capable of that."

"So if it is true, has to be a project completely off the books, then. Something secret that someone would want to hide."

"Precisely," Sherlock gave him a small nod. "So either someone is trying to distract me with a very elaborate hoax, or there is an unknown lab out there. Either way, something is afoot."

John frowned slightly, thinking it over. "Couldn't it just be a joke someone is playing on you?"

"I already thought of that, the person who sent me the information would benefit more in the long run by being truthful to me. So while it is a possibility, the odds are against it. The most logical answer is someone with power and technology might be trying to play a game with me, possibly again." A hard edge invaded Sherlock's tone.

They had just about reached the park, and John frowned. "You think Moriarty is back?"

"I don't think he left. I think he's waiting."

John's gaze flicked around again as Sherlock slowed, starting to look around more carefully now that they were in the park. "Waiting for what?"

"For whatever game he has planned next. John, just what are you looking for?" Sherlock didn't bother turning his head towards his friend as they kept walking.

"Why do you think I'm looking for something?" Puzzled, John glanced at Sherlock.

"Perhaps I should rephrase. Who are you looking for? Because you have looked at almost every person we have passed."

"No, I haven't."

"Yes, you have."

Biting off a sigh, John should have known Sherlock would pick up on his actions. That man bloody picked up on everything. "Just a friend I made the other night."

"Ah, she." Sherlock's tone lightened, a trace of amusement coloring it now.

"Yes, she. But just a friend."

"I see. Just when are you seeing your _friend_ again."

"Really, it's not like that," John replied, exasperated. "I just met her the other day, and we hit it off well as friends, just friends. She looked so lost and alone, I couldn't just walk away and leave her sitting alone on the bench. Besides, I think she must still be grieving for someone."

The words "lost" and "alone" rang like bells through Sherlock's mind, causing him to pause his steps for a moment before continuing.

"Are you alright?"

"Fine, John," Sherlock altered his path, heading towards a woman bundled in slightly ratty looking clothing. He stopped in front of her, pulled out a note, and offered it. She took it with a small smile, her expression brightening.

"Have you seen anything else?"

She shook her head at Sherlock's question. "Not since that day. She just appeared out of nowhere in the middle of the park, and I wasn't drinking or anything. One minute, nothing, next, there was a sound like a low thunderclap, and there she was. There was a little flash of light too, now that I'm thinking about it."

Sherlock scanned the park before looking back at her. "Anything else you can remember?"

"Went to the cash point over there, and when she walked by me gave me twenty quid. She told me to get something to eat, on her. Then she walked off." Giving a shrug, she pointed to the cash point and then in the direction Rose walked off.

"If you see her again or notice anything unusual, let me know right away." At the woman's nod, Sherlock started towards the cash point.

"Odd sort of person to be up to no good and just giving a stranger money for a meal."

"She wasn't giving money away. It had to been a bribe not to say anything." The look on Sherlock's face was not exactly one of John's favorites; it was his please-don't-be-so-stupid expression.

"But she didn't ask for her not to say anything; she just gave her the money. If it was a bribe, wouldn't she have asked her not to say anything?" John asked, puzzled, as they stopped in front of the cash point.

"Well, that would have been too obvious, John. Give money to the homeless, and they are less inclined to tell anyone they saw you. What this woman didn't know is I already pay them. Like I said before, it was a better long-term benefit for her to tell me than keep her silence." Apparently done with the cash point, Sherlock turned and walked in the direction the homeless woman had indicated the stranger had gone.

"So, just when are you going to see your _friend_ again?"

"Back to that now, are we?" Exasperation filled John's tone again. When Sherlock didn't answer, John just shook her head. "Not sure. I already saw her today."

"You did? When?" The trace of sharp interest in Sherlock's tone drew John's brows together.

"Earlier today. She brought lunch by for the entire surgery staff. Said it was thanks for insisting she join me for the dinner the other night. Really, Sherlock she just seems lonely and like she needs a friend, nothing more."

"If you say so," Sherlock returned, noncommittally.

"Did you find anything of interest about the cash point?" John tried to change the subject.

"Hopefully I can get a copy of the surveillance on that machine. It would be interesting to see if the disturbance from the picture showed up again."

"Would that be a good thing or a bad thing?" John was slightly relieved that the subject had apparently been dropped.

"It would be another piece of the puzzle." Sherlock's mind rapidly cataloged every bit of information, trying to form a picture that would make sense.

~~~~~

The next evening, in another part of the city, Rose Tyler ambled down the sidewalk, hands tucked in her pockets. The best way to really know a city was to walk its streets, so that is what she was doing. It would take her days, really, to cover all of London on foot. However, it wasn't exactly like she had anything better to do. Besides, she found it interesting to take in all the differences between this London and the others she had known. Not to mention that it was always good to know the locations of the best chip shops.

It could have been heart-breaking, seeing familiar faces looking through her because she was a stranger. But the truth of the matter was the fact that she had spent most of her time in Pete's World buried in work. Before that, in her London, people would have changed since she had been there, she certainly had. She really wouldn't know anyone anymore. No one's fault, really, life just moved on. You either learned how to move with it, or you moldered in place.

Not that Rose Tyler was friendless, she'd had a few. But would it be fair to them, or to her, to look up their parallel selves? The whole point of this was to make a fresh start, so she resisted the temptation. If they crossed her path, so be it. But she wouldn't seek them out.

Rose was still mulling over these thoughts when a scream split the air. Instinct had her whirling to run in the direction of the sound. Her hand slid into her pocket, fingers closing over the stunner kept there. It was handy to keep in her bigger-on-the-inside pockets. No amount of patting down would ever find it, nor would a scanner pick up on it.

Slowing down, she stopped in the general area where she had heard the scream, listening hard. Hopefully she would be able to get some sort of further hint. Cautiously, she walked forward, scanning the area, when she heard it–derisive voices and sounds of a struggle. She stalked in that direction, hands still in her pockets. Words were always the first attempt; violence should be the last.

When she turned the corner, she saw a man laying on the pavement, blood pooling under him, while a man rifled through his pockets. A woman was pushed up against the wall, a second apparent attacker holding a knife to her throat.

"Oi! Leave them alone!"

Their heads jerked up, and she got a better look at them: two men, mid-twenties, black jeans and jackets, dressed fairly well, actually, for some sort of muggers. That alone rang some warning bells in her head.

"If you value your life, you should turn around and forget you saw anything here."

Rose didn't miss the quick once-over they gave her before dismissing her. That was certainly a mistake on their part. Inside, she felt briefly amused. "Don't think so, mate. Seems like you are hurting them, and that's not nice. I'll give you one chance to walk away."

Normally, Rose would give them more time and try to work things out. Unfortunately for them, the growing puddle of blood under the still form of the man on the ground didn't give her that. She observed the surprise and the slightly derisive look the pair exchanged at her statement. The one rifling through the downed man's pockets stood up, a long knife in his hand shiny and dark with blood. "What are you going to do? Give us a cross look?"

Rose stood her ground, even as he took a couple of steps forward, her voice and face utterly calm. "Last chance. Walk away, and hope the cops don't find you."

"Oh, and I'm really scared of you. Some blonde girl is going to make me pay." He continued stalking towards Rose, violence glinting in his eyes and a smirk on his face.

Sorry, mate. I'm not just any blonde girl." Rose whipped her stun gun out, first aiming at the man holding the knife to the woman's throat. Hit, he dropped to the ground, knife clattering after him. Once released, the woman scrambled frantically to the downed man. The man approaching her stopped dead, his eyes widened in disbelief as she trained the stun gun on him. "I'm a bit more of a Bad Wolf." Pulling the trigger again, the second man crumpled to the ground.

The distraught woman knelt shaking the man on the ground. "Tony, Tony, please wake up!"

At the name, Rose froze in place, a feeling of ice trickling through her. She forced herself to relax, pocketing the stun gun. Moving forward, she crouched down next to the man on the ground, trying to evaluate his condition.

"Get away from him! Who are you?!" The woman gave Rose a mistrustful look, irrational in her shock, heartbreak written on her face.

Holding her hands up, Rose spoke in a soothing tone. "Ma'am, I'm just trying to help. He's Tony, yeah? Well, I used to have a little brother with that name. I just want to help him."

Uncertain, she stood her ground for a moment. "You shot those other men."

"Just stunned them. They'll be out for a couple of hours." Rose's voice stayed calm and soothing. "Like I said, just want to help."

The woman backed off, and Rose moved in. Tony's pulse was weak, but he had one, and he was still breathing, so that was a plus. Unfortunately, he had been stabbed in the gut, and it must have hit something vital, because he appeared to be bleeding out. Rose looked up at the wide-eyed woman. "Ma'am, do you have a mobile?"

When she nodded, Rose shifted forward, putting one knee on the ground. "I need you to run to the corner and call the police. Tony here can't wait for an ambulance; he needs to get to the hospital now. I can get him there, but I need you to call the police.

The woman's face was pale, and Rose abstractly diagnosed she was going into shock from the situation. "But, but how are you going to do that?"

"I need you to trust me. Just go call the police, and I'll get Tony to the hospital. If I don't go now, he's gonna die." Staring at Rose one last time, she slowly picked herself up off the ground. Giving the man a final look, she turned and ran to the corner.

Rose let out the breath she had been holding and pulled back the sleeve of her jacket. One thing handy about learning a city–she knew where the hospitals were. Being somewhat jeopardy friendly, she'd thought that would be a good idea. Briefly, she thought of John's surgery, but they didn't treat emergencies there. Once she had programmed the coordinates, she hooked an arm around the prone man, gathering him to her the best she could. "Sorry 'bout this. Gonna be a rough ride." And with a white flash and a sharp sound, the alley was empty.

In the next breath, a flash of light shone and the same sound rang out as she appeared by the hospital, near the emergency entrance. For once, she had wanted to attract attention, but apparently, her arrival had gone unnoticed. So Rose called out, "Hey. Hey! Over here! This guy is hurt. He needs help!"

Not far away, a woman dressed in scrubs jerked her head in Rose's direction. Muttering something under her breath, she started running towards the pair. Then all the sudden it was as if people boiled out of the entrance, swarming them to give the man the help he needed.

Their focus on the wounded man in their midst, no one noticed the woman who eased away. By the time someone thought to search for her, there had already been another flash of light, and she was gone.


	5. Chapter 5 - The Gift

**Mycroft gets a present**

**Thank you to Veritascara for helping me. She is my beta grammar goddess. **

**-0-**

Alarms blared, jerking Mycroft Holmes' attention from the computer screen in front of him. He quickly keyed in some commands, as his eyes went back to the screen. A diagram popped up in front of him, with areas flashing red. A very slight smile of satisfaction crinkled the corners of his lips.

He carried that smile with him as he got up to head out of his office. Pausing at the doorway, he glanced over to the cool gaze of his assistant. An attractive woman, she was dressed in a neat suit. She looked up from her own computer screen to acknowledge him. "Cancel the alarm, have security stay outside the door of the room, and keep the building on lockdown until I say so."

"Yes, sir."

Still carrying the slight smile, he walked down the hall, clearly heading somewhere with purpose. When he reached the elevator, it unlocked for his use. Stepping into it, he pushed the button for his destination, his assistant following him. The alarm shut off, and he gave her a small nod. When the elevator doors opened, he smoothly stepped out, slight smile still in place.

Walking down the corridor, he headed towards a doorway flanked with guards. His carriage was that of a self-assured man. Without bothering to look at the personal assistant following in his wake, he asked a simple query, "Status?"

"All potential entry and exit points were sealed the moment the alarm went off. Cameras were, and are, still down, but the activity show the user disengaged after the room was sealed," came her prompt reply.

"Very good," Mycroft's expression became a trace smug now. "Gentlemen, secure the room so that I may have a word with our intruder."

The guard closest to the door nodded, punching a code into the keypad next to it. The door unsealed with the snick of retracting metal bolts. The guard readied his gun and kicked the door open, sweeping the room with his weapon. He advanced further into the room, two guards following him in to help him clear it. Their cries of clear were heard as they searched the place, checking for any hiding spots. Then it went silent, and the first guard reappeared at the door to face Mycroft.

"Sir, there is no one here."

The slight smile vanished, and somehow Mycroft's eyes became even colder. Quickly moving past the guard, he entered the room to see for himself. Terminals, desks, chair–everything seemed to be in place. No one was in the room but himself and the guards that had entered with him. His personal assistant came in and moved to the computer, sitting down in the chair to access it. After a moment, she looked up at him, "Sir, as far as I can tell, nothing was downloaded. The encrypted passwords were bypassed, and they looked at everything, but nothing was actually taken. My guess is they were in here for at least an hour before the alarm was tripped."

Mycroft was still for a heartbeat and then turned back towards the door, issuing orders as he went. "Keep the building on lockdown until everyone's identification is checked. If an intruder is found, detain them, but treat them like an honored guest."

"Sir?" one of the guards ventured hesitantly.

"Well, obviously they tripped the alarm deliberately to get my attention that they had been here. That they managed to get in, but didn't take anything, means they have another purpose. Anyone that can get out of a sealed room is worthy of respect, and possibly recruitment, dependant on their intentions." His voice had the patient air of one schooling individuals far below his intelligence.

"Yes, sir. We will let you know as soon as the search is completed." The guards left the room.

Turning back towards his assistant, he calmly issued his next order, "Double check that nothing was taken. Look for anything they might have planted in the system, as well."

"Yes, sir." She bent to work over the computer.

His face a calm mask, Mycroft left the room, making his way back to his office. His eyes were slightly distant as his mind processed all the possible implications. He never really focused on anything as he ascended the elevator. When he got to his office, however, he took one step inside and froze. Giving the room a thorough look, he slowly made his way to his desk and open laptop. Others might not have noticed, but he saw the small signs that someone had been in the room. Of course, the USB drive plugged into his computer was a strong hint. However, he also picked up on the subtle things–the way his chair had been moved a fraction, as well as objects on his desk. There was a faint scent in the air, left behind by whomever had been in his office. It wasn't floral per se; in fact, he couldn't identify it at all, other than to say it was probably a woman's perfume.

Moving around the desk, he sat down in his chair. He gave the laptop a wary look before adjusting it. Then he looked at the screen to read the note typed there.

_Hello Mycroft Holmes,_

I am sorry about the alarm, but I needed to get you out of your office, so I could leave you a small gift. The device plugged into the USB port is a flash drive, but you will note its storage capabilities are much greater then anything anyone can currently produce. I know; I checked. You will find stored on the device the schematics necessary to reproduce additional units. This is intended as a gift; why would l put you to the trouble of reverse engineering it?

Since I have rudely hacked your entire system to evaluate your capabilities, I thought it best that I leave a gift. My hope is that it will demonstrate that I am not your enemy. I mean no harm to you or to anyone. I merely wish an opportunity to start anew.

I'll be rather frank with you; you will not find a hint of my true identity anywhere. There will be no birth records, no school photos, nothing of that nature. There won't be any images of me recorded anywhere prior to my arrival in London two weeks ago. It is as if I didn't exist before that day. However, it is neither wise, nor beneficial, for someone to cause me to disappear. I have safeguards in place, and I have more technology to potentially share over time with you. If I disappear, then so does the technology.

Despite our rather unconventional introduction, I hope we can work together. I leave you with my gift in light of that consideration. I will be in touch.

After reading the letter a few times, Mycroft accessed the information on the flash drive. It was exactly what the note specified. That made it far more then a small gift; the ability to increase storage capabilities had massive potential for other areas of technology. However, it still didn't mean it wasn't some sort of trap. He would have to have it thoroughly analyzed.

Sitting back in his chair, he tented his fingers together, quiet and still as he considered everything. He was looking for someone who had shown up in London approximately two weeks ago, most likely a woman, due to the faint scent of perfume left in the air, potentially done deliberately. There would be no identification records of any type on them, nor would there be any photographic evidence, if they were telling the truth in the letter. There were only a limited number of possibilities as to whom someone like that could be. Either they had angered someone powerful, who went to great lengths to erase them from existence, or they worked for a government with the same capabilities.

It was entirely possible their intent was benign. If they had really wanted to cause trouble, they clearly already had the capabilities. There was the equal possibility that they had long-term plans that could have negative consequences for him. Either way, it was best to move carefully and make sure to do a through evaluation at each step.

He briefly considered contacting Sherlock with this. However, it was best to wait for the analysis of the specifications stored and their further potential; one way or another, there was a great deal of potential in this situation. He would just have to make sure it was beneficial for Britain and himself.

-0-

In another part of London, Rose walked down the street, heading to the park. It was a lovely Saturday afternoon, and she was enjoying her little stroll. Pulling a phone out of her pocket, she carefully keyed in a sequence before putting it up to her ear. "I really hope that you got everything needed out of that little escapade."

"Rose, you wound me. Of course, I got it all," IDRIS's voice of her Doctor came cheerfully over the connection. "Their protections were fairly sophisticated, but everything went according to plan. I'm rather proud of the recording loop I inserted; they didn't even notice until I shut off all the cameras and then triggered the alarm."

"That was my idea, if you recall, but yes, you got it to work. So, our gift should be received as intended?" A smile quirked on her lips, thinking about the surprise she had just pulled off. The irony that it was Sherlock Holmes' brother whom she had laid a neat puzzle out for did not escape her. Sherlock Holmes, though, was not part of her working plan to fit into the world.

"Oh yes! They'll find it quite handy. You could have bargained with it, you know," the AI replied.

"I am bargaining with it. Any businessman like Mycroft Holmes knows how the game works. I am using it to prove my worth as an ally, instead of being imprisoned. We did, after all, break into the building, out of it again, and access a top-secret database. You have to admit that network was impressive." Rose kept a careful watch of her surroundings as she continued to walk. Her years as a Torchwood operative, before becoming Director, had given her many valuable skills, which she kept sharp. Talking to IDRIS and maintaining awareness of her surroundings was easy.

"Welllll, maybe a bit, for their tech level and time. Not as impressive as me, of course," IDRIS retorted, with an almost-sniff. "Was it wise, though, to tell him about the fact you essentially don't exist?"

"S'a risk, I know, but he will find that out sooner or later. Better for me to be up front and tell him what the consequence of making me disappear would be. I could even have value to him as a woman with no past. For an agent or a criminal, well, that would open up all sorts of opportunities. Good thing I'm honest, more or less." Rose looked up to dodge traffic as she crossed the street, closing in on her favorite park.

"You have a point," the AI conceded. "Rose," its tone now worried, "I don't want to alarm you, but I definitely think someone is trying to track you or find out more information. The problem is, I can't pin down who it is. I may have to step up my protective programs–try to scrub any images of you that are being generated."

"Could it be Mycroft?" she asked.

"Hmmm, possible, but I think this is different."

"I'll be careful, yeah? You just keep on it. Let me know if you get anything, alright?"

"Will do; now you go relax. I estimate a week is a good time frame to allow Mycroft a full evaluation of his little gift. Well, the gift and considering the benefits of a good working relationship with you. I'll keep on these traces, though," the AI sounded confident.

"Alright, just make sure you don't accidentally trigger World War III. I prefer not having to dodge bombs," Rose teased.

"Knowing you, you'd attract some sort of trouble anyways. Now let me get back to work."

With a laugh, Rose hung up and sat on the park bench, taking a moment to just enjoy the day. She had been steadily exploring this London by foot, and it was oddly thrilling to just be wandering about with no set schedule or goal. It had been a long time since her life had been like that. Not since the separation at Canary Warf, had her life been so free of goals and deadlines. True, she had a few goals of her own currently, but nothing pressing.

Her attempts at helping people had not stopped. Instead, everywhere she went she looked for opportunities to discreetly help. Sometimes it was by dropping money into a hand that needed it. Sometimes it was sitting down and being an ear for someone. On several notable occasions, she had interrupted crimes in progress. That was a much riskier proposition then any of her other methods. For one, it could put her on the police's radar. For two, she could get hurt doing it. It didn't stop her, however, from reaching out to help. Rose couldn't, wouldn't, walk away from people in need. It just was completely against her nature.

Her phone chimed in her pocket, interrupting her moment.

He shot the wall, again.  
JW

Pursing her lips in amusement, she started texting back.

Is his case going that badly? Or is it not enough cases?  
RT

He's working on something, but it seems to be stalled and he's frustrated.  
JW

That would explain the violin music at three in the morning you told me about.  
RT

Last night he dragged me on a walk all over London, again.  
JW

Tell you what, make an excuse and meet me for chips. It will give you a bit of a break.  
RT

Good idea, though if he doesn't stop shooting the wall I'm going to take that gun away from him.  
JW

Maybe you should take it away from him anyways, what did the wall ever do to him?  
RT

He'd find it no matter where I put it.  
JW

True, still he owes that wall an apology, probably your landlady as well.  
RT

That's it. I'm leaving the flat before I'm tempted to break something of his.  
JW

Meet you there.  
RT

Rose chuckled as she put her phone away. She had yet to meet the infamous consulting detective, but she hadn't really pushed for something like that, either. Instead, she heard John's second hand stories and complaints. Underneath it all, she could tell he really cared about his flat mate and friend.

Standing up, she settled her backpack on her back, when the back of her neck prickled. Something was setting off her instincts, and she slowly started to walk away, trying to unobtrusively study the park. There didn't seem to be anything off, but she couldn't quite shake the feeling of being watched. Rose continued to glance around her; the only thing unusual she noted was a sort of clown dressed a bit like a pig. There was a small swirl of children around him, as he seemed to be handing out balloons. Music was playing, and as she got closer, she could understand the lyrics.

_Who's afraid of the big bad wolf,  
the big bad wolf, the big bad wolf?  
Who's afraid of the big bad wolf, tra-la-la-la-laaaaaa. _

The song was from a children's movie that featured old fairytales. There was a similar story from her original universe, but the lyrics set her even more on edge. It didn't seem to bother the kids or the parents over there, so she wondered if it was just her. Rose tried to edge her way around the group, when another clown came up, causing the prickle to become stronger.

"Would you like a free balloon?"

The clown's voice seemed odd, distorted somehow through the mask, and she took a step away. "No thanks, mate. Not interested."

"Are you sure?" The clown reached out towards her, the string of a red balloon in hand. "They're free. Why don't you come and dance with the kids?"

"No, really. Not interested." Rose tried to walk off. The clown reached out to put a hand on her arm, and she jerked away. "M'really not interested. Back off, mate!"

"Sorry!" The clown skipped away, back to the gathering. She stayed and watched for a moment, but it looked like the kids were all going off with adults, and the music had stopped. The clowns, yes there were three of them now, seemed to be moving off, no children following them. Uneasy, she started down the sidewalk again, trying to shake the feeling.

It hadn't quite faded when she reached the pub. She left a corner of her awareness to watch it, while keeping an eye out for her friend. The good part about her arriving first meant that she could pick where they sat–somewhere she could keep her back to the wall, preferably a corner. Old habits died hard, especially when you were feeling uneasy. She hadn't beaten him by much, though, and just after she sat down, he came through the door. "John!" Rose waved at him, and he spotted her, heading over.

When he dropped himself into his seat with a sigh she raised an eyebrow. "I take, very frustrating day?"

"You have no idea. Just when I think I know what is up with him, he completely changes everything. And don't get me started on his experiments in the kitchen. Just for once, I would like to open the refrigerator without there being bloody body parts in there, literally, bloody body parts."

When John's voice started rising in frustration, Rose put a hand on his arm to calm him. "Relax; I'll get us a couple of pints and chips, yeah?"

"Thanks, Rose." John's expression shifted to something sheepish. "I don't mean to rant at you."

"Sure, you do. That is what friends are for," Rose gave him a grin. "I'll just be a mo'. You relax."

He scrubbed his hands over his face as she walked off, taking her advice and relaxing back in his chair. As much as he looked out for his flat mate, there were times John needed some space of his own. When he stretched out, though, his foot hit something, and he looked under the table. There, on the floor next to Rose's seat, was a type of backpack, but nothing like he had seen before. Curious, he almost picked it up, but decided against it. It occurred to him that he must have seen it before, and he didn't want to invade her privacy. When he sat back up, the fact that it was there completely slipped from his mind.

Rose came back, setting one of the pints in front of him, before sitting back in her own seat with the other. "They'll bring the chips over in a bit. Sit. Relax. Why don't you tell me what's got him frustrated? Maybe I can help. I may not be a genius, but I am rather clever." She grinned at him over her pint.

John picked up his pint, taking a good drink of it before setting it down again. "Well, apparently someone saw a woman appear out of thin air, like some sort of magician's trick. They managed to take a picture of her and send it to Sherlock."

Rose froze inside, her eyes widening a fraction before her training took hold and she relaxed. "He's investigating a magic trick; seems a bit beneath the great consulting detective?"

The humor in her voice made John laugh, sputtering as he had started to take another sip. "Well, if it was just a simple magician's trick, it would explain the bad mood. But no, there is something more to it. There was some sort of distortion in the picture he couldn't account for. He ran all these tests, said it wasn't doctored and there wasn't any natural or known technological process to cause it. "

Inwardly, Rose was swearing. This was not what was supposed to happen. Somehow, her arrival had been noticed by someone who had tipped off Sherlock. Sherlock was Mycroft's brother, which made this all kinds of bad–two suitcases and a bus ride of bad. Outwardly, she kept her composure.

"Really?" Rose let her voice sound skeptical. "It's not that hard to manipulate things on the computer. There are some experts out there that could fool just about anyone."

"Sherlock Holmes is not anyone. If he says it's genuine, I believe him." John's voice had the simple conviction of a man with great faith in his friend.

"Well, that's a puzzle, all right; have you seen this picture?"

At that, John frowned, "Come to think of it, no, and he usually shows me things like that."

"Well, I'm sure it just slipped his mind. I bet he has some sort of theory on it." Rose carefully fished for information, feeling a touch guilty for pumping John. Yet she needed to know just how worried she should be.

Before John could answer, the waitress came over and put baskets of chips in front of them, along with a bottle of vinegar for Rose. Cheerfully, she picked it up, dumping a generous amount on the chips in front of her.

"Just how can you eat them like that?" John wrinkled his nose slightly.

"S'good, I like them that way." Rose gave him an unrepentant grin back.

"Well, you can keep them; I'd rather not have my chips drowned in vinegar, thanks."

Rose was just about to figure out how to bring up the topic again, when something prickled the edge of her awareness. Instantly, her eyes swept the room, taking in everyone at a quick glance. They settled on a man in a long black coat with black, curly hair walking towards them–walking directly towards them. His gaze went to John, and then to her, and back again. She could tell he had pale colored eyes, and something fluttered in her chest, something she hadn't felt in a long time. Rose nudged John with her foot to get his attention. "D'you know that bloke? He's headed right for us."

John turned his head in the direction Rose nodded and let out a sigh. Turning back towards her, his face held a bit of apology in it. "You know how I said sooner or later you'd end up meeting my flat mate because he keeps interrupting things?"

"Yeah?" Rose turned her head back towards John.

"Yep, that's him. Sorry about this."


	6. Chapter 6 - Suspicion

**Sherlock and Rose meet, and well, Sherlock behaves like Sherlock**

** Much thanks to veritascara, my beta and grammar goddess and to Elensari for helping preview the chapter. **

**-0-**

_John turned his head in the direction Rose nodded and let out a sigh. Turning back towards her, his face held a bit of apology in it. "You know how I said sooner or later you'd end up meeting my flat mate because he keeps interrupting things?"_

_"Yeah?" Rose turned her head back towards John._

_"Yep, that's him. Sorry about this."_

-0-

Sherlock Holmes was, in fact, frustrated. The more he delved into the puzzle, the more questions he came up with rather than answers. Normally, each question he encountered helped put together another piece of the puzzle. This time, he just ended up with extra puzzle pieces, with no way of knowing how they fit in.

The video from the cash point did indeed show the same distortion around the woman as was in the original photo. That indicated that she was carrying some sort of unknown technology that was responsible for said distortion. The hack that Mycroft had texted him about two weeks ago indicated someone was researching technological capabilities. However, there were absolutely no indications that there was any sort of lab hidden in connection with her. So there was still the question of where the woman, and the technology, came from.

Based on the picture, the unknown technology, and the video from the cash point, it was a logical deduction that she was the same woman behind Bad Wolf. That name had been popping up across his network in conjunction with a woman who was rescuing people. While some might call her a sort of vigilante, that was not what her actions indicated. She didn't seem to be interested in tracking down criminals. Instead, the interventions all seemed to be conflicts that she came across. Additionally, there was the fact she would randomly hand out money, food, and other items to complete strangers.

The name Bad Wolf itself was a puzzle. The name bore a similarity to a villain in a child's storybook. A wolf was a predator, yet she wasn't preying on anyone, she was rescuing them. Her actions were not bad.

The only logical pattern to the occurrences was that they were steadily moving across London. This would indicate someone new to the area who was exploring. However, the accounts indicated she had an East London accent. Of course, accents could be faked; he would need to meet her himself in order to determine that. Even her patterns of movement were strange. She seemed to randomly double back at times, or completely disappear. Trying to track her down on foot had been increasingly futile.

One piece of information he had been holding onto was the hypothesis that John's new friend was possibly the Bad Wolf. John had met her a day after the first known appearance. Several things he had said about her matched up with some of Sherlock's deductions, but not completely. If she really was making friends with John to get to him, she must be playing a long game. She had made absolutely no move to try to get John to introduce her to Sherlock. Instead, it seemed almost as if she was avoiding him. That could be an indication that she was trying to gather information without drawing Sherlock's attention.

The final piece he had been trying to find a fit for was the internet hacking. It had happened when she first showed up; Mycroft was never wrong about that. However, everything had been quiet for a week. Then a week ago a few alarms had been tripped on various secured databases, but it was as if someone had deliberately set them off. After that, there was just silence again–almost as if they were testing for something.

Sherlock hated not having the answer; he always was able to solve the puzzle. The fact that he couldn't stung his pride and made his temper short. It also pushed him to set things in motion so he could meet this friend of John's and see for himself if she was the Bad Wolf or not. The easiest way to do that was to irritate John enough to need to leave the flat and find someone to vent to, which really wasn't much of a challenge. It was almost as easy as irritating Mycroft.

When John left the flat, it wasn't difficult to deduce where he was going. He had a favorite pub he frequented. Sherlock only needed to wait long enough to seem like he wasn't following John–long enough for John to meet up with his friend and initiate conversation. If he arrived too soon, it would appear suspicious and would scare her off. If he arrived too late, she could easily decide it was time for her to go. If he waited just long enough for them to get into things, she'd be more inclined to stay put, allowing him to gather information at his leisure. That is exactly what he did. He managed to time it so that their food, baskets of chips, apparently, had just been put down at their table.

As he approached the table, he saw her scan the room, her gaze flickering over him and then coming back. Interesting. She was seated in the corner, her back to one wall, another wall to her side. He didn't bother to hide his approach or pretend he didn't see her. She had already seen him looking in her direction. Instead, he saw her get John's attention, and his annoyed flat mate looked up with a less-than-pleased expression. Well, Sherlock had been successful in irritating him enough to want to leave the flat, so he didn't pay any attention to that.

Instead, he sat down in a seat that would block the most obvious avenue of escape for her, just to see her reaction. She was definitely the woman from the video of the cashpoint. What was particularly interesting, however, was to see her carefully assessing him as much as he was assessing her.

"You know," Rose started, in a voice full of humor, "most people wait to be invited before sitting down."

Sherlock afforded her a glance, "Yes, I would say most people do." He then looked over to John, "I think I found a pattern; we should go check it out."

Rose shook her head, humor still in her voice, "Rude. Definitely rude."

John hid something that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. "Rose, this is my flat mate Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock, this is my friend Rose. She's just returned to London–what was it–about two weeks ago now?"

"About, yeah," giving Sherlock a searching gaze, she offered her hand. "Nice t'meet you. I have heard quite a bit about you." Her grin was wide and invited humor.

When he took her hand, Sherlock had a small flutter in his chest–the excitement of tracking down a quarry. At least, that is what he told himself. He had to remain focused, though. This was the woman that was most likely using John to get to him. After The Woman, he wasn't going to let a female distract him like she had. He ran his thumb over the back of her hand to test her reactions. Her eyes dilated slightly before she pulled her hand back, settling just a touch further away from him. Interesting.

"Well, any friends of John's . . ." he let the sentiment trail off before turning towards John. "So, pattern, case, are you coming?"

John made a slight exasperated noise, "I just got here, and unlike you, Sherlock, some of us do need to eat on a regular basis. And I don't want to be rude to Rose." John's eyes lit up with an idea. "In fact, I was just talking to Rose about your case. Why don't you talk to her, since she offered to help."

Sherlock turned his head to look at Rose, "Really, did you have any insights, then?" He allowed his voice to contain his normal derisiveness at someone else's opinion. He was counting on his acting skills to keep from betraying his interest in her response.

Her hands stilled a moment. It was just a flicker of hesitation, before she gave him an amused smile. "John was just starting to tell me about the case. I used to work for a private security firm as an investigator, so I was interested. Still, I wondered why you would be interested in investigating a magic trick–sounds a bit beneath you."

The words were spoken with a calm tone laced with humor, but the challenge in the language was easy to pick up on. It was bait, and he knew it. She wanted to know exactly what he was after. So he took up the challenge and tossed it right back at her, "I'm surprised you aren't more interested. Sure, someone appearing out of thin air could just be a magic trick, but when there is proof something else is going on, then it becomes much more interesting."

"Must be some proof," Rose's voice was skeptical.

"Yes, well, the picture of the woman that arrived had a distortion around it that cannot be accounted for. It was not manipulated, nor does it correspond with any known natural or technological effects. That in itself suggests something worth investigating. Don't you think?" Sherlock allowed the bit of superiority to stay in his tone, even as he carefully watched her reaction.

"If you have a picture, why don't you just use that to look for her and ask about it? It seems like that would be the simplest solution." Sherlock admired the fact that she was remaining calm and keeping an air of casual interest. It also made him even more wary.

"Well, the picture originally taken is from the back, so I don't have a face to use in a facial recognition search. It does hamper identification some. Still, I can tell quite a bit about someone from a photograph." Sherlock watched her, his laser focus trained on her face, watching for reactions.

"For example, in the photograph, her bearing clearly indicates someone with military training, but not army. Her clothing and backpack appear to be of expensive materials, and while the jacket shows some wear, not a great deal. Neither conform to any current styles, nor are they old enough to be vintage, so that indicates that they are custom made. That suggests someone with a great deal of money, as well-made clothes and backpacks are easily purchased. The overall bearing and appearance indicate someone in good physical shape and, from a guess, mid-twenties."

Abandoning her half-finished basket of chips, Rose sat back and studied Sherlock. "Custom clothing could also indicate some sort of specialized uniform created for testing purposes. You did theorize they had unknown technology, which an intelligent person would test before using. So that doesn't automatically indicate that the individual in question has access to money, just that they are employed by someone that does. Most researchers testing equipment are older than you deduce the woman in your photograph to be."

"True, but that would be easy to dispel if, in fact, you had additional photographs of the individual in question." Sherlock kept his gaze locked on her, allowing a trace of smugness through.

Rose raised a skeptical eyebrow, "You have additional pictures?"

"Better than that, I have video from the cash point she liberated funds from. Additionally, I was able to match the description on the reports of someone calling themself 'Bad Wolf' while rescuing people. They used some sort of method to disappear and reappear at times, as well. At least, no one has yet been able to explain their sudden absence or appearance miles apart in mere moments." Sherlock saw the slight widening of her eyes, and allowed himself a cold, smug smile before continuing, "Someone who happens to look just like you. Everything matches. You managed to befriend John to try to get to me, which was not a wise decision."

Rose stared at him with a neutral expression for a beat, while John broke in. "Sherlock, don't be ridiculous. She didn't befriend me to get to you; I'm the one that insisted she come with me. She's just someone starting over . . ."John's voice trailed off as a couple of the pieces of the puzzle slid into place for a moment.

Her expression softened as she turned towards John, "First, I'm going to apologize to you, John. When I realized Sherlock was investigating me, I started pumping you for information. But I didn't know that he was until you started talking about the case. I understand if you are upset with me."

"You really are the woman that appeared out of thin air?" John gave her a nonplussed look.

"Yep," Rose popped the p on her statement. "Secondly, I gotta ask, is he always this bloody arrogant?"

John relaxed a fraction at the statement. "Yeah, pretty much. I mean, normally he deserves it because he's usually right."

"I'm always right." Sherlock snapped.

"Oh, that's not arrogant at all," Rose rolled her eyes before turning to look at him. "Hate to break it to you, wait, no I don't, but the world does not revolve around you, Sherlock Holmes. You are wrong about me."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed before he started shooting off information, "Your accent indicates you grew up in East London, but your clothing, as I said, is custom, which indicates you now have money. You admitted to working for a private security firm, which confirms my deduction on your military training. This is also verified by the fact that you sat with your back at the wall and in a good position to keep an eye on the room. You have at least one weapon hidden somewhere on your person. The angle and posture of how you are sitting indicates you have something between your feet which you value. You wear a black band on your ring finger; it isn't a traditional wedding band, but has more the appearance of a widow's band. That indicates that you are grieving and don't want to attract interest to yourself. There is a chain around your neck to which something is attached. The weight pulling on the chain is heavier than a pendant and suggests that is where you keep your wedding rings. That suggests sentimental attachment to your late husband and possibly an inability to let go of your grief. The black band, however, indicates you are not in denial about his actual death; you have accepted he's dead, you just can't let go of the fact."

Rose had been listening with an amused air, until he got to the black band. Then she had paled slightly, which brought back the trace of smugness to Sherlock's attitude. "Your arrival with unknown technology coincides with a hack accessing secured information about technology. That suggests that you are either looking to sell what you have, or you are planning an attack."

Her mouth compressed into a thin line, and a spark of anger shone in Rose's eyes, "You figured out quite a bit about me, but you're dead wrong about an attack. You are conveniently overlooking my actions as the Bad Wolf, which you already connect me with. All I have done is try to help people. All I want now is to start over–build a new life. I'm quite capable of getting what I need without using John, and you are underestimating him as a friend."

"So I am supposed to believe that it is some sort of happy accident that you made friends with John when my brother is Mycroft Holmes? He's one of the people you would need information on if you're planning on brokering some sort of deal." He had a flash of satisfaction when she turned white at that, but when she opened her mouth, it quickly faded.

"Happy accident . . . There is no such thing as a happy accident. Accidents are tragedies that tear families apart and leave people separated from someone they love. Accidents ruin lives, causing pain and suffering. Accidents are horrible things, and meeting John Watson happens to be one of the best things to happen to me in a long time. He's a good friend and a compassionate man, which is more than I can say about you." Getting up, she snagged the backpack at her feet and angrily shoved her way past Sherlock.

"You want something to figure out, mate?" Rose pulled back her sleeve and Sherlock's eyes fastened on the device strapped to her wrist. "Go ahead and figure this one out." Her hand slapped down on it, and she disappeared in a flash of light and a clap of sound–a slight smell of ozone all that was left in her wake.

-0-

Rose appeared in her hotel room. Promptly moving over to the chair, she tossed the backpack on the floor next to it. She curled into the seat, hugging her knees to her chest and staring out the window.

-0-

Back at the pub, John and Sherlock simply stared at the place where Rose had vanished in shock. One moment she was there, and the next she was simply gone, with no evidence as to where or how. They both jolted when, around them, other patrons started whistling and clapping. Their attention had been caught by the argument, which they now thought all was part of some sort of show.

The bartender came over with a couple of pints. "On the house. That was a right good trick. How did you pull it off?" He set the glasses down in front of them. "Is your assistant coming back?"  
"Well, the thing is, you see . . ."

"No, she will not–more effective that way. A good magician never reveals his secrets," Sherlock smoothly interrupted John's fumbling attempt at a reply with a lie and a tight-lipped almost-smile.

"Shame that, beautiful woman. But that's what most magicians use for assistants, right? A beautiful woman is the best kind of distraction to get people's attention from the real trick," the bartender replied. He started back towards the bar.

"Distraction, yes, beautiful women are good at that; aren't they?" Sherlock suddenly ducked under the table, looking around.

"Sherlock, what are you doing down there?!" John scowled at his friend.

"Looking for evidence of how she pulled it off, of course."

"Pulled it off . . . Sherlock, she didn't even know you were coming. How could she have set something up like that? How the hell could she even _do_ that if she knew you were coming. That was no smoke and mirrors kind of trick." Frustrated, John watched as Sherlock came out from under the table and got up to move around the space, standing on the chair to look up at the ceiling.

"Even the bartender said it–a beautiful woman is the best kind of distraction from the real trick," Sherlock's voice was absentminded as he continued to search around.

"So that's what this is about," John made a gesture of frustration. "You think she's beautiful, therefore, she must be trying to trick you. Not all women are like Irene Adler, and you know it."

Sherlock's tone went frosty as he turned to look at John, "This has nothing to do with _Her_."

"That's not what I think. I think this has everything to do with her. You are so caught up in what she did to you, you can't see past it to someone who isn't trying to use us. She might even need our help," John shot back.

"Why would she need our help?" Sherlock's voice was sharp, his eyes narrowed. "Has she been asking you for something?"

"No! Nothing like that, if you could just get past your paranoia and think." With another frustrated gesture, John calmed himself. "I have no idea how she disappeared like that, and you said there was no technology that matched anything just from the distortion in the picture. What I do know is she seems to be completely alone. I do know she said her husband had been a genius. So what if she has something new that he made before he died? What if he died because he had it? She obviously lost someone in an accident, from how she reacted, so she's alone and with technology no one has seen before. There are probably people out there that would do anything to get their hands on something like that."

"So she told you she was alone to get your sympathy."

John stared at Sherlock after he made that statement. He opened his mouth, shut it again, and shook his head. "You know what, no. I'm not talking to you right now. You can just try and figure how she pulled it off on your own." Abruptly getting up from his chair, John turned and left, leaving Sherlock standing there.

Once outside, John pulled his phone out of his pocket, punching in a text.

Are you alright?  
JW

He started walking back to the flat, not really caring if Sherlock stayed in that pub or not. He hadn't gotten far when the phone chimed.

I'm always alright.  
RT

John rolled his eyes and typed a response.

Well that's a rubbish answer. I'm sorry about Sherlock being a prat. He's still trying to figure out how you pulled off that magic trick.  
JW

This time, it took a bit longer before he received a reply back. When the phone finally chimed, he had made it a good distance down the street.

There is something I heard once that applies, and you can tell him this too. Significantly advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic and vice versa.  
RT

I'll tell him, you know I think he would rather like that quote. Do you need someone to talk to?  
JW

Not right now, but thank you. You are a good man John. I can see why he's protective of you.  
RT

We're not a couple! Why does everyone think that?  
JW

I didn't say you were. You don't need to be a couple in order to have someone that cares about you. Just keep that in mind. He was being a prat because he was worried I was going to hurt you. Like I said, I'm used to dealing with a moody genius.  
RT

I should have slapped him while I had the chance. He still needs his head pulled out of his arse.  
RT

At that last text, John looked at his phone and shook his head, a faint smile on his lips. He typed in one more text before putting his phone in his pocket.

I'll see what I can do.  
JW


	7. Chapter 7 - Challenge

**Sherlock reviews his conclusions, and decides to get more information. **

**Thanks for the support guys, I treasure each review, and they help keep me inspired and writing. Thanks to Elensari for the encouragement, and veritascara my beta and the grammar goddess, she makes these stories better.**

**-0-**

Sherlock perched in his chair, elbows braced on the armrests. His hands were folded together, index fingers extended into a point that rested on his chin. Eyes unfocused, he had the air of someone deep in thought. Time passed around him, and he was neither bothered, nor aware at the length of it that slipped by him. There was nothing more then his thoughts ticking away in his head, as night wore on.

Somehow, somewhere, he was wrong, and he hated it. No, he amended, he was frustrated. He didn't feel emotions like hate or love. They were illogical and did not fit into his world of ordered facts. Yet John accused him of having an emotional response to his friend Rose–that because of how The Woman had behaved, that he, Sherlock Holmes, had ignored facts. He had assumed that Rose's motivations and intentions were self-serving and manipulative.

Usually, he was the first to admit he did not understand emotions and had a difficult time recognizing them in others. In a way, it was one of the reasons he valued John. John was a man who had compassion; he felt things. He wasn't afraid to confront Sherlock about how other people felt. So perhaps–just perhaps–he should try to re-form the picture, using some of John's deductions.

Deep in his mind palace, Sherlock broke down the old picture he had formed into the various pieces of the puzzle. He needed to remake his understanding with pieces that included John's deductions, not that he would ever admit that to his friend.

Assumption one, Rose had a piece, or pieces, of technology that were significantly more advanced then anything anyone else had. This theory was supported by Sherlock's own research and his inability to explain how she was rapidly appearing and disappearing. None of the locations which she had appeared in or disappeared from had any trap doors, projectors, chemical residue, or obvious methods of misdirection. He had seen her possibly activate a physical device that was strapped to her wrist. The words John had angrily flung at him when he returned to the flat came back to him: _Significantly advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic, and vice versa._ Just because he, Sherlock Holmes, did not know how the technology worked, did not mean that it wasn't advanced technology.

In light of assumption one, his previous theory that Rose had befriended John to get information on Sherlock or Mycroft may be a bit erroneous. If she had significantly advanced technology, it would be a reasonable deduction to assume she would have no trouble gaining access to any information she needed. This was further supported by the untraceable hacks that had occurred two weeks ago and then again one week later. The second hack seemed to be an almost-deliberate attempt to set off alarms, rather than accidental. Again, the hacker was untraceable. It was a logical deduction that Rose was potentially the person behind the hacks, as they seemed to be focused on technological advancements.

In that light, she was potentially evaluating companies for their own technological skills. Now this was the area where her known behavior would influence what he deduced as her motivation behind these hacks. If he accepted John's deduction that her motivations were benign, that would support the theory that she was simply gathering information and testing levels. Her behavior as the Bad Wolf supported the idea that her motivations were benign. The name still bothered him, but that wasn't what he was focused on at the moment. It was further supported by the fact that, while walls were breached, nothing had been taken in the first hack or the second hack that occurred last week. There were no indications that anything was inserted into any of the systems, either. This led to the conclusion of assumption two, Rose's friendship with John was not an attempt to use John to gain further information for her own benefit.

That prompted the third assumption, which was the fact that she was alone. This was something that John believed in, and there was some evidence to back that theory up. His homeless network had been watching her, and, while she interacted with people, she was rarely seen traveling with anyone. Upon observation, none of her clothing contained the telltale signs of someone who was cohabiting with other individuals. Her reaction to his choice of the words "happy accident" indicated someone that had lost family in an accident. Furthermore, her word choices indicated she may have lost her entire family, including her husband, to said accident. Finally, every search he had done with her images was unable to turn up a single form of identification or association with anyone.

Upon reaching the conclusion that the third assumption was also most likely accurate, he felt a twinge of concern. Normally, he would have simply dismissed it, but here in his mind palace, it was important that he break down and file away every impression and bit of information. So, why would he be concerned about the conclusion that she was indeed alone? John's words echoed back to him.

_"So what if she has something new that he made before he died? What if he died because he had it? She obviously lost someone in an accident, from how she reacted, so she's alone and with technology no one has seen before. There are probably people out there that would do anything to get their hands on something like that."_

He had upset her, and she had displayed use of said unknown technology in a public place in full view of a multitude of people. Normally, he didn't give a damn about upsetting anyone, especially not a stranger to him. However, she did seem important to John, ergo, upsetting her and causing an action which may have put her at risk, was not necessarily the best thing to do. Granted, she wasn't showing any signs of currently being in distress, but some of those clues would be seen in behavior over time. Wait. He mentally pulled out an image of her, zeroing in on the fact her nails had been bitten short, indicative of someone under stress–one indicator, but not enough to confirm or deny she was at risk. Certainly, her situation would make her more vulnerable, but that did not prove she was actually at risk.

Furthermore, there was plenty of information that proved she could indeed take care of herself. His earlier deduction, which she had made no effort to refute, indicated she was planning on selling said technology. If she established a relationship, she could become quite valuable to whomever she worked with, thus ensuring a measure of safety. That, of course, was dependant on what safeguards she had in place and how much she sold. Additionally, she did not refute the military training, and claimed to have worked for a security firm. That, combined with some of her exploits under the name Bad Wolf, proved she could physically defend herself against attackers, so it would take a concentrated effort to cause her physical harm. This circled back to her lack of back up, which left her more vulnerable to concentrated attacks.

Now came the part where there were great gaping holes in the picture that formed Rose. He didn't even have her last name yet–not that he was going to ask John, after his friend's reaction at the pub. He knew she was helping people randomly across the city, but not why. There seemed to be no real reason for her to be rescuing people, no clear gain for her. She didn't stick around to take credit or try to attract attention to what she was doing. In fact, the only pattern he could ascertain was that she was steadily moving across the city of London. Who she helped seemed completely random.

It itched, this not knowing. He lacked data and thus was unable to complete the picture. This woman did not fit any category he had; he didn't know where to put her. What he needed was more information, and there was only one way he could get it. Rapidly, he pulled the pattern of sightings of her and overlaid it onto the map of London. He quickly found where she was likely to go next. That, at least, was easily managed.

Then Sherlock brought his awareness to outside his mind palace, to the waking world. Night had slipped into day. John had apparently left, most likely for his job at the surgery. There was a cup of tea cooling by his elbow. Picking it up, he found it to his liking and drank it down. Getting up, he moved toward the door, grabbing his scarf to wind it around his throat before reaching for his coat. He was going wolf hunting.

-0-

Exiting the shop, Rose handed over a folder to a young woman waiting anxiously outside. The young woman's hair was cropped short, and she wore fingerless gloves and a long coat that was a bit battered, but well kept. When the folder was delivered into her hands, a smile bloomed across her face and tears pricked her eyes. "Thank you, just, thank you. You don't know what this means to me."

Rose just grinned, giving a small shrug. "Just glad I can be of help, yeah? Wasn't much work on my part. All you needed was a little hand up. It's all on you now, but I bet you'll be brilliant."

The young woman shook her head slightly. "This was everything, and don't worry, I won't waste it." Then she threw her arms around Rose, engulfing her in a hug.

Briefly, Rose was startled, but then she hugged the woman back. "M'not worried, not one bit; 'cause I know you'll do great."

Finally releasing Rose, the young woman backed up a step or two, beaming a bright smile.

"Well, g'on now. You've got places to be and things to do." Rose shooed her slightly, and the young woman's smile got a little wider before whirling around and dashing off.

Watching her run off, Rose made a little sound of contentment before rocking back on her heels. There was a small glow of happiness each time she did something to help make someone's life a bit better. Eventually, she'd need to feed the craving for a bit of excitement and adventure, but there was something to be said for small moments like this.

She was ready to strike out in a new direction when she felt it, the faint prickle of her awareness. Someone was watching her. Well, this could be good or bad, depending on who was doing the watching. Either way, she rarely turned down a good game. Reaching into her pocket, she brought out what appeared to, essentially, be a mobile. Rose quickly tapped something into the device and dropped it back into her pocket.

Keeping her body language relaxed, she started walking away. Rose made sure to keep to her normal habits, including looking around as she moved, keeping an eye out for trouble. She didn't spot who was following her yet, but the prickle remained, so she knew they were still back there. Ducking into a chemist's, she wandered towards the back. But whoever was following her did not come into the shop. Making a small purchase, she left. Quickly looking around again, she didn't spot anyone obvious, but when she started off, the prickle returned.

Intrigued, she decided to start making it more difficult for them. Her path became haphazard, cutting through an alley here, dashing across traffic there. Somehow, the person following her remained out of sight, but kept up with her. Rose was impressed; there were not many that could follow her on foot without tripping up so she got a clear view of them. If they had wanted to grab her, the opportunity had been presented several times and passed up.

Finally, she ducked around the corner and then backed up into a recessed door. Nonchalantly, she leaned back, waiting to see if she could catch her follower up. Lo and behold, who came strolling past a few minutes later, but one Sherlock Holmes. Curiosity warred with irritation within her; in the end, curiosity won out. "Slumming, Mr. Holmes?"

He didn't stop dead in his tracks or freeze, what most people would do if someone startled them. Instead, he came to a rest, before turning in her direction. "Not quite. You could say, however, I am on a," he paused, clearly searching for words, "fact finding mission."

Now her eyebrows shot up, and she regarded him steadily. Then, with a small snort, she pushed off the wall, walking towards him. "Fact finding mission–well, that can't be about me. You made your opinion of me abundantly clear last night." Rose folded her arms across her chest, watching him warily. "Wait. I'm sorry. You made your deduction about my intent quite clear last night. You looking to have another go at me?"

He shifted a little, and to Rose's surprise, appeared a touch uncomfortable. "Yes, well, upon further reflection, I realized I may have been a bit premature in making my analysis."

Sherlock held himself perfectly still, spine straight, posture perfect, and yet to Rose, he gave the impression of fidgeting. Her brows lowered as she considered him, and then she relaxed, dropping her arms. One hand went up to push her hair back. "You were being protective of John. I can't blame you for that. He's a good friend."

When he didn't say anything, just stood there stubbornly, she rolled her eyes. "Oi, if I need information, or anything else, I don't need to go through anyone. I can get it for myself. I have no intention of using anyone. Not my style."

His eyes suddenly focused intently on her, it was only then she realized they had gone unfocused for a brief moment. "No, I rather think it is not. You are not above trying to get information from someone, but you would feel guilty for actually manipulating them, wouldn't you, Miss . . . ?"

Rose quirked an eyebrow; a hint of a smile appeared on her face. He was outright fishing for her last name–progress perhaps. "You really aren't good at apologies, are you?"

When his brows lowered, an actual smile teased the corner of her lips. "I never said I was apologizing."

"Yeah, you did." When he continued to give her an intense look, Rose just shot him an amused glance. "So, how long were you following me?"

"Why does that matter?" Sherlock now seemed a bit baffled.

"Just curious as to what you have found so far on your fact finding mission. You know, that's not a phrase I would normally associate with you using." Contemplative, she tipped her head.

"It's a perfectly good term, if a trifle overused in some professions." His tone was a touch icy.

All of the sudden, Rose burst into laughter, and he gave her a rather nonplussed look. That was not the reaction he was expecting.

"Oh my god, you are pouting."

Now he stiffened, his voice coated in irritation, "I do not pout, miss."

"Tyler," Rose responded.

She stopped laughing, but she was still very amused. Her expression sobered somewhat as a familiar voice with an Estuary accent echoed in her memory. _"Time Lords do not pout, Rose Tyler."_

"It's Rose Tyler, and you most definitely pout. Everyone does it; most people just won't admit it. I'll admit it may be harder to read on you than others, but yeah, you were." The smile bloomed on her face again, and she relaxed.

When he continued to glower at her, she started to walk off, looking back at him. "Coming?"

With a faint look of perplexion on his face, he fell into step with her. "Where are we going?"

"Lunch. And you're buying."

He was startled when she looped her arm through his, but he didn't pull away. "Why would I be buying you lunch?"

"Because you ruined my dinner last night, so you are buying me lunch. Besides, you are the one on the fact finding mission." She helpfully pointed out to him.

"So you think that entitles you to lunch?" Sherlock's tone was haughty, and he looked like he wasn't quite sure what to do with the woman with her arm linked through his.

"No, I think that entitles me to an apology, but so far you are rather rubbish at them. So since you are the one that wants information at the moment, you can buy me lunch." Rose was enjoying throwing him off balance. "Besides, according to John, you rarely remember to eat. When is the last time you ate?"

Before Sherlock could get a proper grasp of what was going on, he found himself sitting down at a table with Rose. She had even somehow managed to get him to order something for himself. Brows knit, he studied her, but he didn't come up with any new information. Instead, he still was left with his puzzle. "Why?" The question was out before he could realize he wanted to ask it.

"Why what?" Rose responded, as she toyed with her food.

"I am not a kind man, and I don't particularly care to be one. Most people would rather be without my company. Yet here you are." He studied her as one might a particularly fascinating inanimate object. Sherlock had an intent gaze, but lacked the warmth or connection that most have with other living beings.

"Why did I drag you to lunch, particularly after how much of a git you were last night?"

Sherlock opened his mouth a little and paused a heartbeat before he responded, "Yes, I know why I am here; I want to ensure you are not a threat. Yet there is no clear reason for you to wish to remain in my company."

Rose gave him an amused smile. "I'm not a threat, Mr. Holmes. You have already decided that I'm not. What I am is probably a bit of a puzzle to you. You want to know who I am. And I'll be honest, you were dead on when you said I would need to know Mycroft Holmes for brokering a deal. However, I have absolutely no intention, or need, to get to him through you or anyone else. I probably am going to broker a deal with your brother. But you, Mr. Holmes, will have absolutely nothing to do with it. But that doesn't really answer the question of who I am or why I am here now, does it?"

He was startled when she made the (accurate) statement that he had already decided she was not a threat. The speech about his brother had him watching her sharply. Yet he had already deduced she had no real need to use him or John for information. His response was calm and even, "No, it does not."

"You know what I think?" Rose leaned in a bit towards him, the wide smile in place. "I think it would be much more fun to let you figure that bit out yourself. You are the genius consulting detective after all." She leaned back in her seat, taking another bite of her food. "You really should eat yours. This is great food here. You don't want to waste it."

The look he gave her was intense, but there was the smallest hint of a smile at the corner of his lips. "I will find out, Miss Tyler. I always find the truth."

To his puzzlement, Rose seemed very highly amused at his statement. "I'm sure you normally do, Mr. Holmes, but the truth behind my life is more than a bit complicated. I tell you what, you accurately deduce just why I came here two weeks ago and where I came from, I'll freely tell you all my secrets." She held up a hand when he started to speak. "I don't mean those deductions you rattled off last night. Until you got to the point where your paranoia kicked in, you were right. But that barely scratches the surface of my life."

This time, his tone was slightly affronted. "I don't need you to speak your secrets. You will tell me without ever saying a word."

"Is that so?" Rose shot him an amused and challenging look.

In answer, Sherlock leaned forward and reached to take her right hand in his. He turned it over, palm up, lightly running the fingers of one hand over it, while the other held her wrist. "You worked for a security firm, and you definitely had the training and gun calluses to show you worked in the field. However, you also have calluses that show you worked in an office. There is one on your middle finger here, which particularly shows you held a pen a bit too tightly. That speaks of someone who has dealt with a large amount of stress. You were either highly placed within the firm or ran it yourself. You didn't let that stop you from keeping in shape or working in the field, indicative of someone attracted to high risk situations."

"You get used to a certain kind of lifestyle, and it's hard to give up," Rose replied smoothly.

Sherlock released her right hand and reached for her left. Curious, she let him. This time, he seemed to be examining the black ring on her third finger. "Yet you did leave, because you suffered a loss, a rather profound one."

His hand tightened slightly on her wrist when she started to withdraw, smile slipping away from her face. "I say this not to wound you, but because when suffering a loss, most people retreat to familiar ground. This loss occurred at least a year ago, as indicated by a few scratches on the surface of your mourning band. There are too few to be more than eighteen months, but enough to indicate longer than nine. You only recently came to London, which is the city you grew up in, which indicates you were not able to immediately leave where you were. Yet after all this time, you did still leave. So you have a high sense of responsibility and made sure your matters were taken care of before you left. Again, indicative that you were highly placed in this security firm, possibly ran it on someone else's behalf after you lost them." Sherlock kept his eyes steady on Rose's now, his tone becoming slightly softer as he touched on her grief.

"London is familiar grounds to you, you grew up here, but have been away long enough to need to relearn the city. This is why you have been making your way on foot across the city, always in a different area." When she relaxed minutely, Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "There is something else, something not immediately obvious, which changes things." When Rose tensed up immediately, he felt a surge of triumph. "That is the secret I need to uncover."

This time, when Rose tried to withdraw her hand he let her. "Very good, Mr. Holmes, though I very much doubt you will be able to figure it out. It would take a leap that I'm not quite sure you are capable of making." At his offended look, her smile returned. "I'm not saying this to wound you, but because it isn't a leap most normal, sensible people would make."

Giving her a level look, Sherlock responded, "I'm a high functioning sociopath, Miss Tyler. I am not normal, nor am I someone most people consider sensible. I will figure it out."

"Rose," she countered. At his raised eyebrows, she continued, "You already know so much about me, you might as well call me Rose. I still doubt you can make that leap, but if you do, I suppose you can name your prize."

Both of them started when an odd buzzing sound came from the pocket of Rose's jacket. She dipped her hand into her pocket and withdrew a small mobile. Flipping it to the side, she read the screen and then rolled her eyes. She typed out something and stuffed the device back into her pocket. "Sorry about that, something I need to take care of."

Bracing his elbows on the table, Sherlock folded his hands together before looking over to her. "Rose, John has some concerns about your probable safety, and I must conclude there is some validity to those concerns. If need be, you are welcome to contact myself."

An amused smile appeared on her face as she considered him. "Is that a roundabout way of offering your phone number?"

He ignored the teasing tone and responded mildly, "I'm sure someone of your talents can find it."

"Quite right," she quipped.

As she got up from the table, Sherlock could see minute changes in her facial features, even if he had difficulty reading them. "I suppose I will be seeing you around then. You are John's friend, after all."

The smile she gave him had something underneath it as she responded. "Not if I see you first."

Sherlock watched her go, unfamiliar sensations welling up inside him. Straightening in his seat, he got out his wallet to pay for the meal as he shoved those sensations behind a door in his mind palace. After all, his . . . feelings . . . were just fascination with the mystery she still represented–that he desired to solve. That was all. The fact he had made a statement earlier to let her know he wasn't trying to hurt her was just to gain her trust. He needed her to trust him if he was going to uncover the rest of her secrets, and that was all it was.

~~~~

Back in her hotel room, Rose dropped the backpack on the bed before unzipping it. Pulling out the laptop, she slid her finger down the side to open it as she scooted backwards to sit leaning against the headboard. The screen popped open, and she set the computer in her lap, leaning back. "Stop fussing. It's not like he's going to guess where I'm really from. I mean, really, parallel world? Sherlock Holmes is a man of science fact, and to him that would be science fiction."

"But was it really necessary to taunt him like that? It was like waving a bloody steak in front of a Threxian tiger." Rose could almost hear the scowl in IDRIS' Doctor's voice.

"You already asked me that, and like I told you, maybe not, but it was fun and helped keep him off balance: give him the mystery that is more difficult to figure out and throw him off from investigating what I'm doing now," Rose explained. Her tone was a trifle annoyed as she folded her hands across her stomach.

"Do you really think that's going to stop him?" IDRIS's voice was skeptical.

"No, but it's certainly fun to try and knock him off balance." There was a grin to Rose's voice, and she had a smug smile in place.

"And that's the other thing, I would have expected you to be angrier with him, and instead, you were flirting!"

"I was not!" Rose protested.

"Yes, you were," the singsong voice said.

"No, I was not." Rose scowled. "I was trying to keep him off balance, and as for why I wasn't angry with him, it was just like I told him, which I know you bloody heard. I activated the mobile just so you could be aware of what was going on for me. He was being protective of his friend, and I can't fault him for that. It reminded me of the way the Doctor would be protective of me."

Silence filled the room until Rose reached over for a pillow to hug to herself. "IDRIS, I really miss him."

"I know you do," the response was gentle. "And it is okay to miss him, Rose, but it is also okay to find ways to be happy and have other people in your life."

Briskly wiping faint tears away from her eyes, Rose shrugged. "Yeah. Then why does it make me feel bad?"

"That's a natural reaction, Rose, but you have to remember he would want you to be happy."

Rose glared slightly at the computer. "And what do you know about it? You are just a computer program."

"Oi! I'm a rather brilliantly designed artificial intelligence, mind you." The slight sniff made Rose give a small smile. "I was programmed with your emotions and emotional responses in mind. Rose, do you know what my primary directives are?"

Curious, Rose's grip on the pillow loosened slightly. "No. What are they?"

"The primary directive is to do what I can to ensure your happiness, and the secondary is to keep you as safe as possible. That is what I am programmed for." The tone of the computer then became a bit dry. "It had to be in that order, because for you, keeping you happy is not necessarily keeping you safe. Jeopardy friendly, you are, and you like it that way. You'd be bored if your life was completely safe."

That got a small laugh out of Rose. "He really did program you to know me."

"Yes, he did, which is why I am not protesting your taunting of Sherlock Holmes more. It may not be the safest choice, but it makes you happy. That is what the Doctor would want for you."

"I s'pose." Rose turned her head to look out the window, her eyes taking in the blue of the sky and the other muted colors of the city bleeding through. It made her think of Sherlock's intense gaze–how much it was like that of her first Doctor's. Both them had eyes that were shades of blue. Sherlock's were intent on trying to find her every secret, while the Doctor's seemed to pierce her very soul and lay it bare.

Yet Sherlock's eyes were not just blue; there were other bits lurking in there. His eyes were full of color.


	8. Chapter 8 - Game On

**We get a peek into Moriarty's mind. Rose meets with Mycroft. Then the inevitable happens, Rose wanders in the wrong direction. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.**

**Whew! This was an intense chapter to write and had help from Elensari, and of course my lovely grammar goddess who helps make this story so much better, veritascara. Thank you all for the lovely reviews and support, they keep me at it.**

**-0-**

Most people would see a man with short dark hair sitting in his chair at his desk, looking at files on his computer. They would see expensive, top of the line equipment. They might note his fine, expensive suit and well-groomed appearance. He may even be considered a handsome man; he seemed fit enough. Yet he also looked like an ordinary man, until you examined him closer.

Until you looked beneath the fine exterior, and dug into the mind or the files in his computer–that is when you would start to see what he really was. You would begin to realize the extent of his reach, his knowledge, his intelligence. The shape of whom and what he was, would start to both spread and concentrate. Then you would realize he wasn't a man, after all; he was a spider, and this was his lair.

Most of the time, if you looked in his eyes, you would see just someone ordinary. At least, until something sparked the intelligence and the madness that lurked within–only then would you see it. A chill would run down your spine, fear on the primal level as instincts told you to back away as you would from a mad dog, slowly and carefully. Never run, because that would just attract his attention and interest, something you never wanted.

Today–today he just looked like an ordinary man doing ordinary things, well, almost ordinary. Today, videos of the Bad Wolf played on his monitor. One video featured her fighting off a couple of criminals. Another window played her sitting in the park on a bench, chatting with a teenager. Still another featured her strolling through the park. In the middle, though, was a clip of her walk with one Sherlock Holmes. "It seems Sherlock found the Big Bad Wolf a few days ago. Though she doesn't seem like she's bad, does she?"

There was no one there to answer him, only the videos playing on the screen in front of him. That didn't seem to bother him or deter him from continuing. "She probably intrigues you as much as she does me. Well, _too bad_. I saw her first, and I don't share my toys." A spark of madness lurked in the depths of his eyes as he practically shouted at the screen.

The anger vanished in a flash, and he leaned back, watching the screen with a bemused smile. "Though she might not be a toy; I haven't decided yet. The game is barely in play, and she so rudely refused my first invitation. I suppose the next one will need to be more direct."

He turned in his chair, and there, across from him, lay a rather battered looking man in a dark suit. Light slanted across the body from the wide window, highlighting the trails of crusted blood running down his form. The man's eyes were open slightly, staring unseeing off in the distance.

"Now, see, you should have made sure this information was brought to my attention immediately. This was utterly unnecessary and completely your fault." He spoke this last sentence in a singsong tone.

Moriarty looked at the body expectantly. "Nothing to say for yourself? Well, at least you aren't making excuses. There is no excuse for failing me. _None_."

The computer made a small noise, and he swung his attention back to the screen in front of him. A video popped open and started to play. As he watched, his eyes grew dark with fury, and his hands curled into fists. He pounded them on the surface of his desk like a toddler having a tantrum. "_No, no, no, no, no, no!_ Her secrets are mine to have. Nobody else's!"

Gripping the edge of the desk, he surged up and pushed it over. It crashed to the floor, equipment scattering, some with a burst of sparks. The monitor went dark, and the phone skidded across the floor. His hands skimmed down the front of his suit jacket and shirt, smoothing them out. He calmly stepped over and around the wreckage and made his way to the door of his office.

Stepping out, he looked about with a calm expression at an sitting assistant at a nearby desk, who immediately gave him his full attention. "Ah, Robert, we need to set up a special invitation for the Bad Wolf."

The assistant nodded smartly, "Of course, sir. I'll take care of that immediately."

"Splendid," Moriarty responded.

"Oh, and Robert?"

The aid looked to him again as he spoke, "Yes, sir?"

"My office could do with a bit of cleaning. There seems to be a bit of a mess in there. Do make sure it is taken care of before I get back." Moriarty spoke with the air of someone bestowing a great treat.

"Of course, sir."

Giving him a smile, Moriarty started down the hallway, whistling. The tune played over and over in his head as he whistled. _"Who's afraid of the big bad wolf, the big bad wolf, the big bad wolf? Who's afraid of the big bad wolf? Tra-la-la-la-laaaaaaaa."_

-0-

Across town, Mycroft Holmes sat reading over the newspaper in the back of his chauffeured vehicle. His assistant perched on her seat, her focus on the smart phone in front of her. When the car came to a complete stop and the driver got out, Mycroft folded his newspaper down with a small frown. "Why are we stopped here?"

His assistant didn't bother to look up from her phone. "We are here for your business lunch."

With a small frown, he put the paper all the way down. "What business lunch? I didn't schedule a business lunch today."

Now she looked up at him, her expression calm. "It was on your calendar for today."

His frown deepened, and he ignored the door the chauffer opened for him. Instead, he reached for his laptop, pulling it open and rapidly bringing up the calendar, his tone condescending. "I am more than capable of remembering my schedule. The reason I have a calendar is for those who are incapable of it. I'd remember if I made a business lunch for today. Who would I be . . . ?"

The calendar came up on his screen, open to the current date. There was indeed a business lunch scheduled, with a Ms. Mallory Lupus. It took him only a few moments, and then the frown faded, replaced with a slightly calculating expression. "So I do. Well, it would be rude of me to keep her waiting."

As he slid out of the vehicle, his assistant moved to follow, and he stopped her. "You need to practice on your memory skills. I do expect you to notice when someone hacks my calendar."

Leaving the laptop in the car, he strode neatly into the rather high-end restaurant, quickly shown to a table where an attractive blonde sat. His gaze flicked over her briefly as he paused at the table. She wore clothing made of fine fabrics–a blouse in a deep purple color, complimented by charcoal-colored trousers. Her light makeup appeared to be done with an expert hand. A thin gold chain encircled her neck, whatever hung upon it disappearing under her shirt, that and the black band on the ring finger of her left hand, the only jewelry noted upon her person.

"Ms. Lupus, I presume?"

"Mr. Holmes," Rose replied with a warm voice, "so kind of you to join me." She gestured gracefully to the seat across from her. "Please, sit." Her time as the Vitex heiress had given her an entirely new set of skills, such as how to handle a high-powered business luncheon. Rose intended to use those skills to get what she needed.

As he seated himself, the waiter handed them both menus before moving off. Opening his, Mycroft kept his tone light. "So you decided against coming back to my office, then?"

"I thought you would enjoy a nice lunch." Rose's voice held amusement.

"Well, this is one of my preferred places to eat, but you already knew that, didn't you?" His question was formed more as a statement, but Rose replied anyways.

"It was a rather simple thing to figure out." She smiled brightly, and to his surprise, Mycroft almost found himself answering it.

"For someone of your talents, not a difficult thing at all, I would imagine," Mycroft replied.

"I do owe you an apology for hijacking your calendar. It seemed the simplest way to arrange the meeting, though. As intelligent as you are, the name I used would be easy for you to reach the logical conclusion." Her eyes glinted with amusement as she closed her menu and set it down.

"You have managed to get yourself mentioned in the papers. It doesn't take a genius to deduce that a mysterious woman who can appear and disappear as needed was the same that visited my office." Mycroft countered blandly.

The waiter came back to their table, and they placed their orders, handing him the menus. After he departed, Rose picked up her purse and settled it in her lap. Opening it up, she pulled out a small, black, square-shaped device. It was on the thinner side, and could be potentially mistaken for some kind of coaster. Running her thumb along the edge, a thin line of blue outlined the upper edge of the square. She placed the device on the table before closing her purse and setting it back down again. Looking up at Mycroft's rather intent expression, she smiled again. "Feel free to talk about anything you wish. That device inhibits sound waves from passing beyond a certain radius. No one will overhear us, and any electronic recording device will get only static."

Mycroft held still a moment, before inclining his head. "It is quite a clever little device, then."

Rose didn't miss the quick flash of calculation in his eyes. "I already gave you a gift. More will have to be negotiated for," she calmly warned.

"Indeed, the little gift you presented me with was quite useful. I take it you have more useful devices?" He picked up his water glass, using it as a prop as he relaxed in his seat watching her.

"I do, covering a wide area of specialties. They should help you advance your progress by, well, years–in some cases potentially decades or more." Her smile broadened. "They are safely kept in bio-metric storage containers, which will only open to me. There is an additional security system. Should anyone try to access the items without me, the results would be unfortunate."

"Oh?" Mycroft maintained his air of polite interest, "Just how unfortunate?"

"The contents would fuse and be unsalvageable by anyone. I'd much rather see it destroyed than in the wrong hands."

The waiter returned, setting their food in front of them, giving Mycroft a bit of time to consider what she had said and the potential ramifications. He also watched Rose as she interacted with the waiter. She called him by name and was polite, bequeathing him with a warm smile, as well. While her accent spoke of higher society, it was affected. It was very good, but traces of another accent lay hidden underneath. Cockney, he detected. Neatly fitting the bits and pieces he had together gave him enough to negotiate. More would come over time.

Mycroft waited until the waiter left to resume their conversation. "Just how did you determine that my hands would be the right ones?"

Rose's gaze sharpened. This was a test, of sorts. Her answer would, yes, give him some insight into her, but also determine how he would handle negotiating with her. "Research, for one. I looked first into who could handle the technology. Then I looked into the people. You are not altruistic, Mr. Holmes, but you do have a purpose, one that guides your actions. You defend your country, probably very ruthlessly." She kept her eyes on him, his expression unchanging. "This means there are matters you will not compromise in, if it means the safety of Britain. I can admire that, and since I don't deal in weaponry, there is no conflict for me to negotiate with you."

With an air that bordered on disinterest, Mycroft went about eating his lunch neatly as they talked. "It is more than money you are interested in," he stated.

The smile that had faded during her explanation curved her lips again, warming her face. "Yes, money is easy. While I do need it, there are many ways to get it." She followed his example, calmly eating what was in front of her. Most of her attention was focused on the man across from her, though.

"You want an ally, and someone with a vested interest in keeping you alive and cooperative." He could have been discussing the weather based on the inflections he was using.

"Correct again, Mr. Holmes. It shouldn't be a difficult endeavor. I come here with a clean slate and no enemies that I am aware of. Though my recent activities may have caused more then a few individuals to dislike me." Her eyes danced with warmth and humor, inviting him to share the joke.

"I hardly think the rabble is of much concern to you or me." Just the faintest of smiles played across Mycroft's face. It quickly vanished into a hint of a scowl.

She tilted her head slightly as she registered his reactions. "Well, in one way they are very much a concern, but not in the essence of them being a huge threat. Those I should be able to handle on my own. Not that I anticipate problems, but . . ." Rose's voice trailed off.

The posh part of Rose dropped away slightly, and the steel framework underneath the soft exterior began to emerge. "Too many people are only interested power in this day and age–that means knowledge and technology. The only secrets I hold are my own, but the tech, that's a different matter entirely."

"Then why not simply turn it all over to me, since you apparently think so highly of me?"

Rose smiled, amusement traced on lightly on her lips, and her natural accent slipped through more strongly. "Because m'not stupid, Mr. Holmes. M'only worth protecting if I have something you want. Maybe if I was still the naïve girl I was when I was nineteen, I would just turn it over to you now. But I've grown a lot since then. I've seen both the best an' worst of what the universes have to offer." Her smile turned a bit sharp. "An' I never said I admired you, just your principles."

She settled back in her seat, some of the steel sinking again beneath warmth and humor. "Plus, you aren't really ready for all of it. Not yet, anyways."

"And you really think you are the best judge of that?" Mycroft replied archly, watching her carefully.

Her amusement only seemed to deepen. "M'not playing games with you, Mr. Holmes. Well, at least m'not at the moment. Granted, setting off the alarms and watching you try t'figure out where I went was fun." Rose paused to let that sink in. "We are both fully aware of what I am capable of, so yeah, I am the best judge of what you are ready for."

There was a heartbeat of silence as they both took measure of the other with the tension of two predators circling, neither threatening nor retreating. "Perhaps. Either way, your proposal is an intriguing one." Mycroft only conceded so much.

"An' you probably want some time to look it over. Time, at the moment, I have." Rose leaned down to pick up her clutch again. Reaching within, she pulled out a USB Drive. "On this are the specs for my initial offerings, as well as price, and information on my needs and on an account funds can be placed into. I think you'll find what I am asking for quite fair."

Rose studied the little flash drive, smile still in place. "Once funds are placed in the account, I'll deliver items and the actual information so you can build the devices on your own. I'll consider such a deposit an agreement to my terms, though I will want to formalize it when I make the delivery." Her eyes flashed over to his. "There is a time limit on my offer, Mr. Holmes. I can be patient, but I won't wait forever. You take too long, and I'll start looking again."

Mycroft made the slightest of nods. "Understood, but what if I have a counter proposal?"

"Oh, Mr. Holmes, I know very much the value of what I am offering you. My terms stand as they are. It is your choice to accept or refuse them." Her expression morphed from amused to thoughtful. "Though I may be amenable to additional agreements between us, as business partners, in the future."

She closed her purse, and began reaching forward to offer the USB drive. Before she had extended her hand far, she stopped, consideration dancing on her features. "In the spirit of full disclosure, at least about our deal, there is something I should let you know."

"What might that be?" Mycroft's tone betrayed no more than mild interest.

"Shortly after I first arrived in London, a stranger befriended me. He's become a good friend." Warmth danced in her eyes. "His name is John Watson, and apparently, he is friends with your brother." Now the warmth was completely stripped away, the eyes of the predator she had named herself for, shining through. "M'not going to be happy if someone tries to use my friendship with John t'get t'me. M'not going to put up with anyone messin' with him. If I think you're trying t'go through him, I'll consider our agreement void, an' you'll have made an enemy. Clear?" She met his gaze squarely.

"As crystal," Mycroft paused, his tone dry. "Any instructions about my brother?" A small amount of steel shaded his voice.

Rose's smile bloomed with amusement, though a touch of the hunter remained. "He's your brother. You have him t'answer to if you try t'use him. As for me, I've no need t'use him." A trace of contemplation flickered across her face. "M'not sure I'd call him a friend as of yet, more of a challenge, an' I can handle him on my own. M'used to dealing with moody geniuses."

"Is that so?" Mycroft raised an eyebrow, only allowing a faint glimmer of skepticism to show.

"Definitely." Rose extended her hand, offering the USB drive to him.

"You will have my answer shortly, in one way or another." Mycroft accepted the USB drive, turning it over in his hand before tucking it in an inner pocket of his suit. "And Ms. Lupus . . ." he started.

Rose looked up, hiding her smile. "Yes?"

"As you said before, in light of full disclosure, should you and your technology become a threat, I will see it eliminated. This little game of yours may have been slightly entertaining. Yet however clever you think you are, I'm better." Mycroft's delivery was unemotional, and his facial expressions completely opaque. He barely reacted when Rose laughed.

"Oh, Mr. Holmes, of that I have no doubt. However, I could hold m'own and stand up to the most brilliant man in two universes–any version of him. M'not intimidated by you. Think of my little game as more of a display of my skills an' value as an ally. If I could do this to you, imagine what else I may be capable of." Rose's smile deepened as she started to rise from her seat. She bent down to fish her backpack from under her chair. Mycroft's gaze fastened on it, but he made no comment.

"As I told your brother, you have already decided I don't intend to be a threat. This meeting would have gone very differently if you had." She pulled a jacket out of the bag and shrugged it on, before settling the backpack on her back. "You could have the agent in the back corner there follow me, if you wish. But I promise you, he won't be able to for long." Mycroft's expression only betrayed the faintest of flickers when she identified the agent, and her wide grin flashed, "Until next time, Mr. Holmes."

He watched her leave, cataloging every tiny detail he could. There might come a day he would need it all, if he ended up re-evaluating her non-threatening status. For now, he would let her think she held the high ground, as long as it got him what he wanted. When the agent came up behind him, he gave a small shake of his head. "Don't bother; I doubt you could track her anyways. For now it appears we both have something the other wants. That will be enough to keep her coming back."

Studying the door for a few minutes more, his face remained impassive as he swiftly calculated possibilities and odds. "Keep her under surveillance, but don't follow her, not directly, anyways. She'll most likely pick up on a tail swiftly. I'll expect reports on her activities. We'll need to keep an eye on that one. She'll either solve a lot of problems or cause them. Perhaps both. If she's seen with my brother, I am to be told immediately."

-0-

Rose made her way down the sidewalk, reaching up to press something behind her ear. "That went fairly well." This universe did have Bluetooth technology, so the sight of someone talking to the air would not make another person immediately think "nutter." Instead, they would just assume she had a hidden earpiece, which, in a way, she did.

IDRIS' voice sounded a trace smug, yet warm, in her ear. "It's not like he can ignore what we've managed to do so far."

"Yeah, but we don't want to get too cocky." Rose took a quick survey around her, a slight smile on her lips as she realized that she had not been followed. "At least he's not insultin' me by sending a tail."

"True, but that doesn't mean he won't use other methods to try and track you," IDRIS mused. "I'm going to step up my sweeps of any electronic eyes trying to spy on you."

"So very Spock," Rose answered with amusement.

"Oi, I'm programmed to watch out for you. Remember?"

"Yeah," Rose let out a small sigh, her mood suddenly darkening. The colors of the world around her seemed muted.

"Rose, are you alright?" IDRIS' concerned voice sounded.

"I'm always alright."

"Rose, you know that I can monitor your biological readings through the device that allows me to speak to you directly, right? It's obvious that your chemicals have shifted slightly. Additionally, I've been programmed to monitor and evaluate your behavior. Now, what's wrong?" IDRIS' voice was firm, a concerned tone threaded throughout.

Stuffing her hands in her pockets, Rose remained silent for another block. "He's still lookin' out for me, even though he's gone. It just . . . hits me sometimes that he's really, really gone. It's not like I forget that, but I feel guilty."

"Guilty?" The AI's voice was surprised. "Why do you feel guilty?"

"Here I am, havin' this adventure, havin' fun, an' he's still gone."

She walked a few minutes before IDRIS' voice broke the silence. "Rose, he set this adventure up for you. He wanted you to have it; he wanted you to have fun and be happy. Do you really think he wanted you to sit at home and pine for him for the rest of your life?"

"No, but I can't help feelin' this way," Rose replied, with a slightly defensive note.

"He really did want you to move on with your life. It is okay for you to be happy. It is okay if he's not what you are always thinking about. You aren't betraying him. You are doing exactly what he would want you to do."

Rose came to a sudden stop. "Hang on. Did he program you with psychological stuff?" When there was no answer, she rolled her eyes. "He did, didn't he? Oh that, that, alien git!" She gave a sudden laugh. "That is so like him. Givin' me a virtual hand to hold an' shoulder t'cry on, help me t'feel better."

"Weeeeeellll, technically half-alien git," IDRIS answered in a relieved tone.

Rose shook her head and started walking again. She didn't really have a goal at the moment–just wandering aimlessly. "S'pose I should have expected this." Some of her amusement slipped away, her voice a bit sad.

"Hey, it doesn't change the fact he wanted you to be happy. If anything, it proves it," the AI insisted. When she didn't answer, it went on. "Rose, I have another message from him for you. I can play it for you later tonight when we are back in the hotel room."

"Yeah?"

The thought made Rose perk up. "I'd like that, thanks." Now her steps became more deliberate, as she mentally pulled out the map of London. She started to turn in the direction that would lead her back towards the hotel.

"I didn't mean right now," the AI reacted with slight exasperation. "You are supposed to be out enjoying yourself. Not-" the AI's voice suddenly cut off. At the same time Rose felt a prickle of awareness. This was not a quiet feeling of uneasiness, but a truly disturbing sensation.

"Rose . . ."

"Someone's trying to track me, aren't they?" Rose's Torchwood training had alarm bells ringing in her brain.

"Yes, someone has accessed all the security cameras in the area and has them pointed in your direction." The AI's voice sounded terse.

"Mycroft?"

There was silence, and then IDRIS responded. "I'm having trouble tracing the source back. It is possible."

"_You're_ having trouble tracking it?" she asked, the surprise and disbelief evident in her voice."

"Yes," the AI's response was clipped. "I'll get through it, eventually, but whoever is doing it is very good."

The prickle on the back of Rose's neck grew even stronger. "Alright, how about this: can you plot me a route that will take me in and out of blind spots? I don't want to make it too easy to track me . . . or too predictable. That will make them work at it and hopefully make it easier for you to find out who is doing it."

IDRIS responded almost immediately, "In about thirty meters there will be an alley on your left. Turn down it, and then you'll be making another left at the end."

Rose started following the directions, weaving in and out of the sight of the security cameras. The sensation of being watched, or followed, seemed to stay with her no matter if she was in or out of the cameras' sight lines. She had been following directions for about twenty minutes when one of her turns was blocked off. The side street was blocked by a truck that had managed to get itself stuck lengthwise, completely blocking everything.

"Now that takes real talent. Okay, Rose, keep going, and there should be another turn in fifty meters." The AI seemed unconcerned and just adjusted the route.

"Any luck on tracing the source down?"

"Not yet. I'll find it, though. We just have to keep them working." IDRIS' voice was confident.

Ten minutes later Rose found her path blocked again. With a small frown, she kicked one of the crates that had tumbled down. There were two men on the other side of the pile arguing over the mess. "IDRIS, I don't like this. Are you almost done?"

"Give me a minute, and by a minute, I mean ten minutes. I just tripped over a virus and it's trying to tango with me. By tango I mean rip my programming apart, but don't worry, I can handle it. Just take your first right, your third left, and get an emergency jump ready." The AI had the same harried tone of the Doctor when he was doing something difficult and trying to cover up that fact.

"IDRIS, just concentrate on beating that virus, and we're getting out of here." Rose was officially alarmed.

When she ran into the third thing to block her path, she knew–someone was trying to herd her to go where they wanted. Very carefully, she adjusted her teleport, trying to keep it hidden up her sleeve. All right, she was potentially walking into a trap. Best bet would be to find out what they wanted and be ready to get out of there. Turning away from the wooden wall covering the exit she wanted to take, she openly scanned the area around her. "Alright, mate, show yourself. I know you are following me, so what do you want?"

When no immediate answer came, she tucked her hands in her pocket and started to walk forward. At first she tried to reverse her path, only to find a quickly erected wall, blocking her way out of the alley. "Bit elaborate, don't you think?"

Turning, she started down the only way open to her. Rose kept looking all around her, trying to spot the tail, but they were very good. "You know, there are better ways to ask a girl out on a date."

Silence was the only answer to her flippant comment. She could, if she desired, just teleport herself out of there. However, that wouldn't answer who was doing this, or why. So she kept moving forward until she walked into an empty playground filled with old and rusted equipment. It looked completely abandoned and entirely creepy.

"There you are. Took you long enough."

At the strange voice, Rose whirled around to face a slim man with dark hair. He wasn't overly tall, and in some ways, ordinary looking–that is, until she looked at his eyes. He stood dressed in an expensive suit and holding a red balloon.

"I have this lovely present for you. I tried to have someone give it to you earlier, but you just didn't want it," Moriarty pouted slightly.

Rose eyed him warily. "Sorry, mate. I'm not into balloons."

"You know, you really shouldn't be so _RUDE._" The last word was practically shouted, and Rose shifted into a defensive stance.

Concentrating on modifying her accent to be more Estuary, rather then East London, she kept her eyes on him. "It's not really rude when someone is trying to give me something I don't want. I did, after all, apologize."

"But that's not the point!" He stamped his foot, looking like an overgrown toddler starting to have a tantrum. "I went to all this effort and you aren't even bothering to find out what you get with this balloon."

"Alright," Rose started cautiously, "what comes with the balloon?" The memory of the park and the bizarre pig clowns floated to the surface of her mind. It was just creepy then; now it sent a chill of fear up her spine.

"Why a chance to work for me, of course," he replied. "You know, for some reason, people hardly ever turn that down." His smile was slight, but carried an undertone of mad glee. "Well, they hardly ever turn that down and stay breathing."

Oh, this was not good. This was very much not good. Rose kept her eyes on him, even as the back of her neck continued to prickle. "No offense, but I don't even know your name. Why do you even want me to work for you?"

_"Don't play dumb with me!"_

The angry outburst of words sent a jolt through Rose, though she tried to remain outwardly calm.

"You know exactly why I would want you to work for me. You are the woman who doesn't exist, the Big Bad Wolf. Or should I call you Rose Tyler? Do you know how remarkable it is to meet someone that just doesn't exist anywhere?"

He walked towards her, his steps slow. "But where are my manners? You are right. I haven't introduced myself. I'm Jim Moriarty. Hi." In contrast to his earlier outburst, his greeting was almost childlike and did nothing to calm Rose's unease.

"Oh, this is bad. This is a suitcase, two hatboxes, and a taxi ride of bad." Rose felt a rush of relief when IDRIS' voice sounded in her ear again. Then, she realized just who she was facing, and her feelings of unease doubled.

"Mr. Moriarty, well, this is a surprise. I've heard some interesting things about you." She managed to keep her voice cool.

"You have? Oh, I hope they were good things. You know how rumors go; sometimes they get completely garbled." Moriarty made a tsking noise. "One of them said I killed three people this week. It was actually five. People should really get their stories straight."

Moriarty stopped about three meters from Rose. She stood her ground, even as her instincts urged her to flee from him. "That tends to happen. I try to stay out of the gossip rags myself."

"Rose, it is really wise to taunt a psychopath who has you cornered?" IDRIS whispered. Rose tried to suppress a smile from IDRIS' comment, but she may have not completely succeeded.

"Are you _laughing_ at me? _NOBODY laughs at me._" Moriarty's eyes flashed, and Rose took an instinctive step backwards, bracing herself.

That seemed to please him, and the anger slid off his face. "Now, I can be a perfectly reasonable man. Why wouldn't I be? The world does revolve around me, after all," he said with a cheery grin. "I'm going to give you one more chance. You can do this the easy way or the hard way. The easy way, you take this nice balloon and come tell me all about yourself and whatever lets you pop all about London."

Unbidden, a memory surfaced of her first Doctor from back when they first met, after the plastic arm had tried to strangle him in her Mum's apartment–his response when she asked him who he was. Well, it wasn't wise, but it would leave an impression.

"Do you know like you were saying about the Earth revolving? It's like when you were a kid. The first time they tell you the world's turning, and you just can't quite believe it because everything looks like it's standing still. I can feel it. The turn of the Earth, the ground beneath our feet is spinning at a thousand miles an hour, and the entire planet is hurtling round the sun at sixty-seven thousand miles an hour, and I can feel it. We're falling through space, you and me, clinging to the skin of this tiny little world, and if we let go . . .

"That's who I am. Now sod off, Jim Moriarty. M'not going to tell you anything more or give you any of my tech."

IDRIS's high-pitched squeak of a voice indicated it was not impressed with her choice. "Really, REALLY?! You had to go do that? Blimey. Readying emergency protocols one, two, and three."

"See, this is what happens _WHEN I TRY TO BE NICE!_"

Rose stood firm at his outburst, tensed and ready for action.

"You really should have taken the balloon. Now we do this the hard way." Moriarty flicked his gaze to either side of Rose and behind her. "Tag her, and bag her."

Before she could puzzle out his meaning, Rose felt a sting in each shoulder and in her legs. The ones to her shoulders had a duller feel, while her calves were sharp pains. As she looked down, two tranquilizer darts unable to penetrate her reinforced jacket fell to the ground. "Bloody hell," Rose breathed as the sedative started to course through her body. The darts had no problem penetrating her thin trousers.

They most have noted their mistake, because a heartbeat later, two more darts embedded in her legs. Woozy, her knees started to give out as IDRIS called out in her ear. "Rose, hold on. Activating emergency protocol one!"

While her mind dimly tried to figure out what that meant, there was a flash of light, a clap of thunder, and Rose Tyler vanished.

This, however, did not seem to upset Moriarty. Instead, he looked at the riflemen who came out of the shadows. "Well, don't just stand there. Follow the homing device AND GO GET HER!"

He gave them an unpleasant smile. "And if you don't find her, I will track you down and strip the flesh from your bones."


	9. Chapter 9 - Emergency Protocols

**IDRIS needs to keep Rose out of the clutches of Moriarty, and someplace safe. **

** Major thanks to veritascara, who helped provide some medical knowledge, as well as really helping me improve this chapter. Lots of hugs and thanks to Elensari for her help and support. Lots of hugs for everyone for all the support and lovely reviews, you keep me inspired to keep going!**

**-0-**

A human mind could only process certain kinds of information so quickly. Injected with sedatives, the human mind moved even slower. So it wasn't surprising that Rose's mind was sluggish, that it struggled to maintain its grip on reality. She barely registered the wrench when her location changed. Having already fallen to her knees, her body wanted to crumple the rest of the way to the ground. However, a rather insistent and anxious voice frantically demanded she do something first.

A computer, by contrast, could work rapidly, processing all information at an equal speed. Running too many programs at once could slow down its ability, but to do that to this particular computer, a hybrid of advanced alien and human technology, would be difficult at best. Although intended for a single user, it had the capability of interacting with hundreds at once, if needed. The AI directing this computer had been designed to only ever be used by one individual, and IDRIS' very existence was, in fact, linked to Rose Tyler and her well-being. Thus, it had one focus at the moment and one focus alone: get Rose Tyler out of danger.

With Rose's human mind compromised and unable to get her out of trouble, the AI's emergency protocols automatically engaged. Step one: remove Rose Tyler from the situation that endangered her happiness and safety. This allowed IDRIS to activate the teleport for an emergency transport, coordinates: Rose's hotel room. In a flash, the immediate danger vanished.

Step two: use the limited tech currently active to scan Rose and her surroundings to ensure she was out of danger. Fortune and misfortune arrived hand in hand. Fortunately, whatever sedative was loaded into the tranquilizer darts appeared to have no adverse effect–well, other then the fact that Rose was about to lose consciousness. Unfortunately, IDRIS's limited scanning ability revealed that the darts contained embedded homing beacons. Moriarty had anticipated Rose's probable escape, and thus had prepared to immediately track her current location.

Rose was no longer safe in the hotel room.

Before she could be relocated, the homing beacons needed to be disabled; otherwise, each new location would be similarly compromised. The AI could jump Rose to a new location to enlist aid, but any logical public location that might offer assistance and safety afterwards presented the same risk.

Computers could not panic, not really. However, this particular AI ran a personality program based on its creator, a man who would have been perfectly capable of panicking if something threatened Rose. IDRIS caught images of the agents from the abandoned playground entering its surveillance field and immediately dismissed a number of possible resolutions to the situation. Just about everyone and everything was a suspect. Rose needed to be somewhere safe–estimated time left to relocate her: three minutes, eight seconds. Thanks to Torchwood, Rose had a slightly higher resistance to drugs, but she would soon pass out, regardless. The dose was too high. This, however, gave them a few more precious seconds.

Problem: the AI had a distinct lack of hands. (If it had hands, it might be sticking them in a crop of messy brown hair, making it even messier, but it didn't.) The only one capable of removing the darts was the woman spiraling towards unconsciousness. IDRIS had to keep Rose functioning long enough to remove the darts. Only then could Rose be relocated to a safer location.

"Rose, _Rose!_ You've got to stay awake, Rose. You are not out of danger yet!" IDRIS' voice rang in Rose's ears as she tried to understand what was going on.

"Wha'?"

"Come on, Rose," the AI begged. "Just stay with me a bit longer. You were hit with tranquilizer darts. You need to pull them out of your legs."

Sluggishly, Rose remembered there was indeed something stinging her legs. However, for some reason, every part of her body seemed to have a massive weight tied to it, making it difficult to move. Additionally, the carpet underneath her just felt marvelous, and she wanted nothing more than to lie down.

"Rose, this is _important_. You have got to pull those darts out. Please, Rose! You can't have that fantastic life if Moriarty gets his hands on you!"

Two minutes, thirty-eight seconds. Rose needed to move. A secondary system worked on intermediate jump sites. But each jump risked Rose, either because of the sedation, or by creating a pattern that could be predicted.

The frantic voice in her ear both pleaded and demanded that she do something. This annoyed Rose to no end, but she might as well do what it wanted, if she was going to get any peace. Clumsily, she reached back and snatched at the first dart. She missed, which made her scowl. On her second grab, she managed to wrap her fingers around one. With a hiss of pain, she pulled it out, dropping it to the side.

"That's it, Rose!" IDRIS' voice crowed in her ear. "Three more and you can rest, just three more darts." The agents reached the hotel, bypassing the front desk, which could mean their equipment was good enough to track her exact room.

One minute and fifty-five seconds left, to be precise.

Rose managed the second and the third, but before she could get the last one, she crumpled to the ground. The volume of the voice in her ear increased, and she grumbled under her breath. She just wanted to sleep now, but it wouldn't let her rest. With great effort, she twisted around and finally grabbed the last dart, tossing it as far away as it would go. The voice in her ear gave a cry of triumph and then blessedly shut up. Grateful, Rose closed her eyes and sank into unconsciousness.

The dart removal had consumed way more time then IDRIS liked. Luckily, it took less than a moment for it to assess the best possible location for the next emergency teleport. Rose needed a location that did not carry the risk of being compromised and had individuals not only capable of, but willing to assist her. Really, that left only one option.

The AI rapidly determined the coordinates. The door burst open. Time was up. Rose Tyler vanished again in a flash of light.

IDRIS hoped that the fact the location contained someone Rose didn't quite trust, would be outweighed by the fact there was someone there she did. As for the henchmen, their boss would not be pleased with them.

-0-

Across town, at an address that was rather famous (at least in another universe), there flashed a light. An unconscious blonde fell to the floor, the displacement of air causing a slight breeze that fluttered a few papers in the oddly decorated flat. The books piled here and there weren't that unusual. However, the skull on the mantel and the contents of the kitchen, especially the refrigerator, were decidedly not for the faint of heart.

Still, at the moment Rose was safe, so the AI bent its resources towards finding the flat's normal occupants. It took only seconds for IDRIS to uncover the information on their mobiles. Since the phones were currently turned on, it was easy to track them, as well. They were outside of London, but not extraordinarily far, and traveling to the city, not away. The speed by which they were moving and their location suggested they were in a vehicle. A few more seconds, and it had the information on their rented vehicle, which happened to have GPS installed, as well as a very modern radio.

Now, there were a number of ways IDRIS could handle this. It could wait, as the duo was inbound to London. However, the AI wanted Rose Tyler monitored; she could still have a reaction to the sedative. Additionally, it was entirely possibly to deduce this as a logical location Rose might go to for help. IDRIS had their phone numbers; sending a text was beyond easy. But it needed to grab their attention and hold it. That would ensure that they would come home and come home quickly. So, what was the best way to get the attention of genius? Show off your technical skills, even if the puzzle was a bit simplistic.

The trip home from Baskerville was fairly quiet; John sat at the wheel, and Sherlock seemed mostly lost in his own thoughts–well, lost within his own mind, but John was rather used to it at this point. The man had been practically manic before they accepted the case and left London. While on the trip, he had ranged from bouts of intense introspection to outright rants, fighting to cope with his own emotional responses. In that way, it had been a rough case on them both. Yet, even in the aftermath of all that, it was quieter in the car than John had expected.

With the case solved, Sherlock would normally complain about being bored again. Or he would boast about his intellectual prowess, which often involved insulting the ability of people around him. Instead, he was deep in thought–much like he was whenever a case presented a particularly complex puzzle for him to unravel.

So John was left in silence, until it was broken by the navigation on the car informing him it was calculating a new route. Exasperated and muttering about bloody glitches, he smacked the dash above it and then reset the directions back to the rental facility. Satisfied it was fixed, he refocused on his driving, only to have it calmly announce again that it was recalculating the route to the new destination. "No, I don't need directions back to the flat. I need the bloody rental place."

John reached to reprogram the device a second time, when the radio suddenly turned itself on with a loud burst of intermingled static and garbled music. Startled, he jerked the wheel of the car, causing it to serve. Quickly grasping it in both hands, he straightened out the vehicle on the road. Sherlock turned his head to watch the rapidly changing station numbers on the radio. Clips of songs started to play for a few seconds, and then switched again.

_"Help, I need somebody–"_

*static*

"–I don't care where the enemies are; Can't be stopped, all I know; go hard–"

*static*

"I've got to, get away–"

*static*

"–hungry like the wolf–"

*static*

"–in the spring, becomes the rose–"

*static*

"I see a bad moon a'rising, I see trouble on the way–"

*static*

"–and it was clear she couldn't go on– *static* –don't fear the reaper–"

*static*

"–help me if you can, I'm feeling down–"

The radio shut off as abruptly as it had turned itself on. "What in God's name–" John cut his exclamation off as the GPS made another calm announcement. "Your new destination is 2-2-1-B Baker Street, London."

"It would appear we have a new client," Sherlock said in a fairly detached voice, but a hint of interest sparked within.

"A new client? What are you talking about?" Perturbed, John kept both hands on the wheel while he shot Sherlock sideways glances as he continued driving.

"Honestly, John, that message was simple enough for even you to understand." Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Though the use of the car's navigation system and radio was slightly impressive."

"Well, if it was so simple, why don't you explain it to me, then?" A sideways glance revealed to John that Sherlock was tapping in a message on a phone. "Who are you texting?"

Are you alright?  
JW

"Rose."

John frowned. "I didn't know you had Rose's phone number."

"I don't. But you do."

Another glance revealed to John it was his own phone in Sherlock's hands. "How many times do I have to tell you to stop picking my pockets?"

"It was necessary. We need to know how much trouble she's in." Despite his words, Sherlock's tone was almost bored.

"You think this has to do with Rose?" John took the turn that the navigation directed him to, the speed of the car increasing.

"Obviously. Weren't you listening?" Reminiscent of someone instructing a particularly dim five-year-old, Sherlock patiently (for him) expanded on his explanation, "The very first song played literally asks for help, while the second indicates an enemy, and a refusal to submit to said enemy."

"Right, and then there was the bit about getting away, a wolf, and a rose. The songs weren't random; they were chosen? But how did she manage that?"

"How does she manage to appear and disappear? You accept that she can do that but have a hard time believing she can hack a simple navigation system and digital radio?"

Before John could answer, the phone in Sherlock's hand buzzed, indicating a text message. A slight frown pulled on his features as he read it.

Dr. Watson, Rose Tyler is in need of assistance. Be advised, her arrival was not monitored, but the probability your flat is being watched due to association exists.  
UNKNOWN NUMBER

"What, what is it? Is she okay?"

Sherlock's fingers rapidly typed out a response, ignoring John's question. He didn't bother identifying himself, letting the messages continue as if they were from John.

Who is this, why isn't Rose responding, and who might be monitoring my flat?  
JW

The phone buzzed again, moments after Sherlock sent his response.

Rose is unable to respond at this time, she requires assistance.  
UNKNOWN NUMBER

Why does Rose Tyler require assistance?  
JW

Rose is unable to respond at this time, she requires assistance.  
UNKNOWN NUMBER

During his reply and the response he received, Sherlock's frown deepened. "John, straight back to the flat, but do try not to attract attention. For whatever reason, Rose is not responding, someone else is. In theory, it could be an automated response that she triggered herself."

John's hands flexed on the wheel, and he forced himself to back down on the speed, easing it to just over the speed limit. "But you don't know."

"No, but we are going to find out."

Tension rode with them in the car as they got closer to the flat. It took most of John's control not to increase their speed, but his faith in his friend's mind meant he took the warning to heart. They arrived without any undue hurry, making sure they didn't rush into the building. Instead, they gathered up their things from the car and sauntered inside.

Once in the building, however, they dropped all pretense and rushed up the stairs into their flat. There, sprawled on the ground, was Rose Tyler, out cold. Dropping his things, John immediately made his way to her side, falling down on his knees and pressing his fingers to her neck to check her pulse. His breath came out in a whoosh of relief as he looked over to Sherlock. "Her pulse is steady."

The detective crouched down next to her, examining her legs. He carefully pulled up the fabric of her trousers until he found the first puncture mark on her leg. He looked up as John gently shook Rose's shoulder, trying to rouse her. "Don't bother; I suspect she's been sedated, possibly shot by some sort of tranquilizer darts." His gaze swept Rose's form and around her. "They must have been left behind."

Sherlock's hand went to his coat pocket, and he pulled John's phone out to type another text. The physician continued to carefully assess the unconscious woman.

We are here. Rose is unconscious.  
JW

The response was nearly immediate.

Rose Tyler was sedated, so far no adverse reactions. Time until she regains consciousness is unknown. Her care is now in your hands.  
UNKNOWN NUMBER

John watched Sherlock expectantly as he typed back another response. "Well?"

Where are you, who are you, why are you looking out for Rose?  
JW

"Shush, I'm still pretending to be you, I have to make sure I don't sound like a genius."

With an exasperated sound, John looked down as his fingers brushed against one of the straps of Rose's backpack. Giving a small start of surprise, he pulled it from her back and settled it off to the side. "There, that will make her more comfortable. Here, help me get her on the couch."

That information is for Rose Tyler to choose to share. Good luck.  
UNKNOWN NUMBER

Closing the phone, Sherlock studied Rose for a moment, before stuffing the phone back in his pocket. "No, she'll be more comfortable on a bed."

Ignoring John's startled look, he easily scooped up the slight woman. Rising to his feet, he turned and headed towards his bedroom.

"Don't you think she'd be a bit surprised to wake up in your bed?"

"Oh, yes. In fact, I'm counting on it."

At his response, John gave him an incredulous look, before darting ahead to get the door.

"Thank you, John."

"You want to surprise her by having her wake up in your bed? You really think that's the best way to go about this?"

Easily, Sherlock carried her through the doorway and made his way towards his bed, gently setting her down on it. "It will be easier to get information out of her if she's caught off guard." His gaze swept up and down Rose's still form. "That should do, don't you think?"

Shooting him a look, John moved to remove Rose's boots. "Here, help me with her jacket, and that will do."

"Right."

Sherlock's fingers fluttered for a moment; he didn't seem conscious of the movement, nor did he seem quite sure what to do. John had to direct him on how to help. Once they were done, Sherlock dropped down into the chair in the corner. "Now, we wait." He looked over at John. "You should go return the rental."

"Me? Don't you think the one with the medical training should keep an eye on her?" John gave Sherlock an incredulous look.

"Oh, do be logical. If someone is monitoring our flat, you leaving to return the vehicle would imply your services are not needed here at the moment." Settling back in the chair, Sherlock braced his elbows on the armrests. "Besides, if she was going to have a reaction to the sedative, she would have had it by now."

"My unconscious friend should be monitored. We have no idea what was used or how long until it wears off. She might not even be coherent when she does wake up." John made a frustrated gesture at the bed.

"Then the sooner you go, the sooner you will be back." John gave him a look, and then glanced to the bed, and back again to Sherlock. With a sigh, he shook his head. "If she wakes up, do me a favor and just pretend to be nice."

"I can be nice."

John just stood there and stared at him.

"What?" Sherlock had a wide-eyed look of innocence on his face. "I'm perfectly capable of being nice."

"I know you can be. I've seen you do it on rare occasions. Most of the time, you ignore it in favor of getting what you want. So if she wakes up, I want you to be nice, or I'll, I'll . . ." John looked around, trying to determine the best threat. He snapped his fingers as it came to him. "I'll convince Molly that you are creating a health hazard with all the body parts in our kitchen, and she shouldn't give you any more. And give me my phone back."

"You wouldn't." Sherlock leveled a dark look at John as he pulled the phone out and handed it over.

"Try me. I bet I can get Lestrade to back me up." John challenged. Sherlock just glowered at him, and John jabbed a finger in his direction. "I'll turn in the car, but you, be nice." Turning on his heel, John headed out of the flat, casting the occasional glance backwards.

Silence descended, bringing with it a slightly uneasy feeling to Sherlock. Sitting back in his chair, he realized his coat was still on. Getting up, he shrugged out of it as he walked towards the coat rack. The nagging feeling didn't go away. Something felt off within the apartment. As he circled the living room, he felt his foot nudge something that shouldn't be there.

Looking down, he saw Rose's backpack at his feet. He recognized it from the pictures of her. Reaching down to pick it up, his brows furrowed as it occurred to him that he had not noticed it was there, which bothered him far more then he cared to admit. It seemed light enough, and he couldn't tell from holding it what was inside. In fact, it seemed like there was nothing inside it at all. Yet it was clearly important; she was never pictured without it.

He carried it into the bedroom, sitting down with it in his lap. Sherlock looked for an opening, and he found what appeared to be a zipper. Running a finger along the seam, he felt a small pinprick to the pads of his fingers. Then the seam went red hot, and he yanked his fingers away. He glanced over to the sleeping woman. So far, she still held all the secrets, and he didn't like it.

An idea occurred to him, and he dug into his pocket for his own phone. Pulling it out, he took a quick picture of the backpack, and then Rose on the bed. Rose's picture appeared normal–the distortion usually around her completely absent. With a flick of his finger, he turned to the picture of the backpack. There, there was the distortion he expected. Something about the backpack caused it, the same backpack he couldn't find a way to get into.

He turned the backpack over in his hands, unable to find another opening. Running his fingers over the fabric, he debated trying to cut his way into it, but with a glance at the sleeping woman, he ruled against it. It would most likely go under the category of what John considered rude–not that he actually believed John could convince Molly, not really. With a frustrated sigh, he set the backpack down and turned his focus towards the blonde resting on his bed.

Unbidden, the memory of coming home to find Irene Adler sleeping on his bed flooded his mind. Irritated, he tried to push it away. The Woman had used his bed because it was comfortable and to manipulate him. He had put Rose there because it was comfortable, and he wanted to manipulate her. The parallels suddenly made him frown. He shoved the uncomfortable feeling away. It was a simple matter of him needing information and her having it, no more. Sherlock determinedly locked it all behind a door in his mind and leaned back in the chair.

Minutes ticked by as he tried to keep that door closed. Instead, he focused on the variables that might have caused Rose to seek refuge. It was hardly his brother's method to have shot her full of tranquilizer darts. The darts were more reminiscent of someone trying to capture a wild animal they did not want to kill. In a way it was clever, and pointed towards someone wanting her, not as Rose Tyler, but the Bad Wolf–a collector, perhaps. Of course, there was all that tantalizing potential technology she represented.

Before he could go much further down that line of thought, a groan issued from the bed. Remarkably, his train of thoughts completely halted, and he focused on the woman the sound came from. Her body stirred fretfully, as if she were trying to fight her way awake. Remembering John's threat, he got up and moved towards the bed, hesitantly sitting on the side of it.

Rose flinched away at the action, her eyes blinking open. "Wha'? Where?" She twisted, trying to push herself up.

"Easy. You're safe. Nothing's going to hurt you here." He tried to keep his voice soothing, relaxed.

She turned towards him, and he could see that her eyes were having difficulty focusing on him. "Who? How inn'a hell?"

"It's Sherlock Holmes, John's friend. As for the how, I'm afraid you'll have to tell me."

"Oh, m'crazy then, 'kay," Rose's eyes slid shut as she mumbled her response. Then her eyes shot open just a few moments later. "Who are you?"

His eyebrows lifted at her response, but he theorized it was the after effects of coming out of the sedation. "A friend. You are someplace safe."

"No such thing, they're all dead." Again she tried to sit up but just flopped back down on the bed muttering, "An' don't let the Slitheen get the kangaroos."

Not entirely sure how to respond to that, he settled for attempting to reassure her. "I won't. You still have some friends, Rose Tyler. You are someplace safe."

She quieted, staring off into space, still trying to focus her eyes. Then her hands clutched the bedding around her, frantically searching. "M'backpack, where is it?!"

"It's right here." Sherlock got up from his perch and crossed the room to pick it up. Walking back over to the bed, he placed it next to her seeking hand. With a sigh, she rolled over towards it, pulling it in close to her body and curling around it as she shut her eyes again. "S'all I have left. Need it."

"It's all right; you have it. You are safe." Following an impulse he neither understood nor expected, Sherlock reached forward and brushed the hair back from her face. When he tucked it behind her ear, his fingertips brushed over something unexpected. "Rose?"

"Mmm?"

"Is this supposed to be behind your ear?" he asked, regarding the small device he'd found that blended in with the color of her skin, sitting on the bone behind her ear.

"Yeah, so IDRIS can yell at me."

"Who's Idris?" The name caught his interest, and he couldn't resist asking.

Rose's breath caught, and she opened her eyes. This time they managed to focus on his face. "Sherlock?" she asked, with consternation, pushing herself into a seated position. He backed off, as she actually managed to get herself upright this time, dangling her legs over the side of the bed. "What? Where am I?"

"In my bed. Do you like it?" He gave her a small superior smile, and she gaped at him, her head wobbling a little bit.

"What th' hell am I doing in your bed?!"

"I thought you would be more comfortable there than on the floor of our living room," he answered in a matter-of-fact tone.

"How did I end up in your bleedin' living room?"

This might have gone on, but for the sudden sound of a door opening and a male voice calling out, "Well, I'm back. Did she wake up?"

She twisted towards the door, some of the tension leaving her body. "John?"

Footsteps sounded, and then John came through the door. "Rose, how are you feeling?" He bent down far enough to look into her eyes. Behind him, Sherlock's lips tightened a fraction, a trace of frustration in his expression.

"Bit of a headache, bit woozy. What happened?" She closed her eyes a moment and then reopened them, focusing on him.

"I'd give you some pain killers, but I'm not sure yet if that is a good idea. Apparently, someone shot you full of sedatives, and then you escaped and made your way here. So you have any idea how that happened?"

Rose groaned and rubbed a hand over her face. "Some people really don't like it when you say no to them. One minute m'facin' him down, then next I wake up here."

"Who, Ms. Tyler, who were you facing down?" Rose looked over to Sherlock after he asked the question. She measured him intently, debating whether it was wise to tell him or not.

"We need to know, Rose, if we are going to help you," John stated.

Turning her head, she studied John's earnest expression. Letting out a sigh, she realized she owed him an answer. Her decision made, she turned to lock her gaze with Sherlock. "A bloke that said his name was Jim Moriarty."


	10. Chapter 10 - Tenative Trust

**Rose decides what she can trust Sherlock with.**

**Hugs for everyone for all the support and reviews. Seriously guys, you keep me inspired to keep going! Much thanks as always to veritascara, my beta the grammar goddess who's slowly teaching me better grammar. Lots of hugs and thanks to Elensari for her help and support. **

**-0-**

_Rose groaned and rubbed a hand over her face. "Some people really don't like it when you say no to them. One minute m'facin' him down, then next I wake up here."_

_"Who, Ms. Tyler, who were you facing down?" Rose looked over to Sherlock after he asked the question. She measured him intently, debating whether it was wise to tell him or not._

_"We need to know, Rose, if we are going to help you," John stated._

_Turning her head, she studied John's earnest expression. Letting out a sigh, she realized she owed him an answer. Her decision made, she turned to lock her gaze with Sherlock. "A bloke that said his name was Jim Moriarty."_

-0-

Their reaction told her that the two men knew instantly who she was talking about. Sherlock remained utterly still, but she could see, and almost feel, something dark about him. John opened his mouth, as if to give an exclamation, but halted, shaking his head and turning to look at Sherlock. "This is bad."

"Yes, it would appear so," Sherlock replied, his gaze still firmly locked on Rose.

John wheeled towards Rose, "How long has this been going on? Why didn't you tell me?"

"Whoa," Rose held a hand up, the other clutching her backpack to her chest. "For one, I didn't realize anything was going on until today when he started herding me into his trap."

"Herding you into . . ." he paused, pinching the bridge of his nose, "and you let him?" John's return was tinged with anger and exasperation.

"How else was I supposed to find out what he wanted?" Rose gave a small shrug, nearly all the movement she could manage at the moment. She could feel her mind shaking off the effects of the sedatives, but she didn't quite want to try walking yet.

"And what did he want?" Rose turned in Sherlock's direction as he asked the question.

"Me," she said simply. "He wanted me to work for him, most likely to show him all my little tricks and toys. He seemed rather displeased that I turned him down." She wrinkled her nose, her voice thoughtful. "Seemed rather insistent on me accepting a red balloon. Bit of a nutter, that one."

"A red balloon," Sherlock mused thoughtfully. "Interesting choice."

"Well, the first possible reference was pretty obvious–red in connection with the Bad Wolf," Rose pointed out off-handedly.

"Like you said, rather obvious with the color. There is also the film _The Red Balloon_, in which there were people who, when they could not possess it, destroyed it." Sherlock's gaze flicked back and forth, fitting this bit of information into the rest of the puzzle. "It is a warning to either join with him or be destroyed."

"You two are rather calm about this." John looked between them, askance.

"Should I not be?" Rose said in a light tone as she hugged the backpack to her stomach.

Sherlock's head moved a minute amount, studying her. "You are nowhere near as calm as you appear. The knuckles of your hand gripping that backpack are white, indicating your grip is tight." His eyes narrowed. "You were reluctant to give us the name of the person after you. Either you already knew something significant about him, or you knew his name would be significant to us."

A shadow of a smile crossed her lips before her expression sobered. "Bit of the first. Wasn't sure of the second." Shifting, she braced one hand on the edge of the bed. "Look, can we move this discussion to someplace easier for me to sit? Not that this isn't a nice bed, but this might be a bit easier if I could sit where m'not afraid of falling over."

John moved to her side, instantly putting an arm out to support her. "Maybe we should let you rest until the effects have worn off. How are you feeling? Dizzy still? Any nausea?"

"A bit, yeah. Lightheaded and not much in favor of eating anything at the mo'." Rose gave John a half smile. "Not much in want of a kip–rather just sit somewhere more comfortable."

With a roll of his eyes, Sherlock huffed, "Yes, fine. Move her to the living room, John, so we can continue."

Her smile deepened, observing Sherlock's irritation, and she glanced back to John. "Not very good with people, is he?"

"Not so much, no." John gave her a smile. "Well, if you want to move, you have to promise me if you get worse, you will tell me immediately."

Rose let John help guide and support her from the bed over to the couch. Once settled, he insisted on checking her over again. That done, Rose found herself pinned under Sherlock's intense gaze again. "Who is Idris?"

Her eyes widened a fraction, giving him a sense of satisfaction. "Someone helped you, sent messages, and worked to make sure we went straight back to the flat. You have a device behind your ear which you informed me was so that Idris could yell at you."

Idly, she reached behind her ear and removed it. "Not s'posed to be wearing it too long. Must have shut off." Pursing her lips, Rose considered her options. She could either make up a story, which he might see through, or trust them with the truth. When she started to get up, John put a hand out. "Whoa, where are you going?"

"I need my jacket."

"Let me get it. I don't want you walking around too much until we are sure everything is out of your system." John got up and headed into Sherlock's bedroom, returning with her jacket and handing it to her.

With a small nod of thanks, Rose reached into a pocket and pulled out a phone. Her gaze flicked between Sherlock and the device as she typed out an inquiry. Whatever the response was, it seemed to make her frown. Rose sat back and studied Sherlock openly. He remained unperturbed and returned her gaze steadily.

This was a big decision–how much to trust him with. She didn't know Sherlock–not really. Oh, she could extrapolate his behavior based on some of the things the Doctor did, but she didn't _know_ him. So what did she know about him? The consulting detective helped people, but it was more about the puzzle for him and to keep him from being bored. He was almost inhumanly brilliant and had almost no people skills. According to John, while the detective could deduce the signs of emotional states, he frequently didn't understand why someone would react badly. Those two things rather made him like the Doctor, at times. Unfortunately, that just added another reason to question her judgment of him. Was she reacting because of how much she trusted and loved the Doctor . . . or on his own merits?

She turned to look at John, and then she knew. John was a good man with a good heart. Rose had seen that for herself. And John trusted Sherlock. Oh, he might complain at times and not always trust Sherlock's experiments in the kitchen, but John trusted the man. He had faith in him, the same way that she'd had faith in her Doctor. When someone good has that kind of faith in you, it can make you a better person because you don't want to let them down. Sherlock was also protective of John; she could tell from his actions and his suspicions about her. She found it ironic in a way, that her reasoning behind deciding to trust the detective originated in part from his initial suspicion of her. So she decided and made a leap of faith.

Rose turned to look back at Sherlock. "If I introduce you to IDRIS, you need to promise me that you keep it confidential. No one can know, especially not your brother. He would want to get his hands on it, and I can't let him."

"You do have dealings with him, then." Sherlock responded, his intonation flat.

"Yes, but they are not to involve either one of you. I was rather clear with him that I wouldn't take kindly to anyone trying to use John to get to me. "

"Wait, you told him about me, but what did you say about Sherlock?" John questioned.

A wry smile twisted Rose's lips. "That he was Mycroft's brother; he'd have to deal with Sherlock himself, if he tried."

The consulting detective's lips started to curve upwards in an involuntary response to Rose's statement. When he realized what he was doing, he immediately frowned. The twinkle of amusement in Rose's eyes grew stronger at that reaction. Clearing his throat, he sat up a little. "You have my word."

"Mine as well," John chimed in.

Rose clutched the backpack to her and then pulled it away so she could unzip it. Sherlock watched in utter fascination, trying to catch how she was doing that. "IDRIS is a what gentlemen, not a who." Her hand dipped into the opening and pulled out a slim laptop.

John gave her a startled look. "I could have sworn . . . Never mind. Go on."

Tracing her hands around the rim, Rose continued. "Individualized Detection and Response Information System. John, Mr. Holmes, this is IDRIS." She opened the laptop and set it next to her, tipping the screen so it faced the trio. With a few taps, she engaged the vocal interface. "IDRIS, say hello to Dr. John Watson and Sherlock Holmes."

"Hello!" The cheerful male voice that sprang from the computer made John's eyes open wide.

"Are you telling me that your computer was responsible for your escape and contacting us?" John jabbed a finger in the laptop's direction.

"Didn't Rose tell you? I'm brilliant." IDRIS replied, its voice filled with smug glee.

"Artificial intelligence. I wasn't aware anyone was close to making this kind of breakthrough, nor that it could be contained in a computer that small." Sherlock's voice held a healthy amount of skepticism. "How do we know that this isn't just linked to someone in another location?"

"Oi! I am the most advanced piece of technology the earth is likely to have for several centuries," IDRIS retorted indignantly. "I have no need to resort to someone sitting in a remote link-up."

To everyone's surprise, Rose just laughed. "I have no reason to lie to you, Mr. Holmes. What would be the point?" She studied Sherlock closely, before shaking her head. "Oh, I get it; we are back to you being an arrogant prat who thinks this is about a trap for you." Her eyes flashed. "Now I don't know what the hell happened to you to make you so suspicious of me. I haven't done anything to you."

"Haven't you? You've presented me with a puzzle, a mystery. Rarely do you offer any information; instead, you dribble it out by dribs and drabs. You oh-so-conveniently show up in my flat claiming that Moriarty is after you." Sherlock's voice mirrored the way he held his body–stiff, without any hint of flexibility.

"Sherlock you can't honestly think that–" John protested, but Rose interrupted him by reaching over to put a hand on his arm.

"It's obvious, Mr. Holmes, that you are having difficulty looking past your own overblown ego here. You are not nearly as intelligent as I thought you were. Since you are clearly uninterested in helping me, I will find my own refuge. I do not _need_ your help, Mr. Holmes. I can help myself just fine," Rose informed him, her voice hard and her face expressionless.

"Eeer, Rose?" IDRIS interrupted apologetically. "You can't go back to the hotel, and I can explain how you ended up here."

Turning towards the laptop, Rose snapped, "Yes, please do explain what happened. As for the hotel, I can find someplace else."

"Moriarty used tranquilizer darts to inject the sedative in you. There were four darts, two in each leg, when I activated the emergency teleport to take us back to the hotel. Based on the number of darts and your reaction, he played a bit fast and loose with the sedatives. It must have been a mixture of a fast-acting one with one that would keep you out for a couple of hours. Additionally, the darts were equipped with a homing device."

John's eye widened. "So he anticipated you would disappear and prepared for it. By using the fast-acting sedative, he tried to knock you out before you could remove the homing beacon and change locations again. Mixing in the long-term sedative gave him time to locate and retrieve you if you went further away. You're lucky not to have had a bad reaction. He must have been confident he could mix the two, or he didn't care if it killed you." John put a hand over Rose's, his expression reflecting the concern in his voice.

"Exactly my conclusions, Dr. Watson," the AI replied.

"But that doesn't explain how I got here." Rose shot an annoyed glance at the laptop.

"Weeeeeeell, my programming has emergency protocols that activate if you are rendered incapable of acting on your own behalf. That includes access to your teleport to remove you from dangerous situations. You stayed awake just long enough so I could get you to remove the darts. I didn't have much time, just a few minutes really, to find a secondary location. Any public location or assistance was ruled out as I didn't have the time to make sure they weren't somehow compromised. Taking you to Mycroft Holmes was also ruled out; that would weaken your negotiation stance. I could have sent you someplace abandoned, but I don't have the ability to help you, Rose, if you had a bad reaction to the drugs. Dr. John Watson is your friend and has medical training, so I took the risk and brought you here."

Silence fell when the AI finished its explanation, broken a moment later by John: "I, for one, am glad you did. Thank you."

"Mr. Holmes," IDRIS started, "I can explain some of what might be engaging your suspicions about me. My programming was designed specifically to interact with Rose Tyler. To that end, I have the ability to develop personality profiles for my interactions with her. In this case, my default setting is that of my creator's, the late Doctor John Smith. His knowledge and intelligence superseded anyone else's on the planet. You will not find anything, or anyone, even close to managing what he could, which is one of the reasons why you couldn't open the backpack earlier." The AI explained, its voice at the conclusion of this statement a bit sly.

"Sherlock, you _didn't,_" John exclaimed.

"I was attempting to gather information about how Ms. Tyler arrived in our apartment and any potential danger." Sherlock replied, his tone haughty and unapologetic. There was, however, just the faintest hint of a blush tinting his cheekbones at being caught.

"It's alright, John. I might have done the same thing in his place." Rose smiled at her friend before turning back to Sherlock. "My Doctor," a small, fond smile graced her face, "He would have had no problem doin' that. M'not going to take offense to that. Especially as m'not being very forthcoming. Makes sense to try an' figure it out. You don't dangle a mystery in front of someone like Sherlock Holmes and not expect him to investigate. An' that is exactly what I have been doing–daring him."

Eyebrows lowered, Sherlock stared at Rose. Only John seemed to understand him, and then not always. Mycroft didn't count. How was it possible that this strange woman did? It made part of him crawl with suspicion and something else. He ruthlessly shoved both away. Emotions should have no bearing on the facts that had been presented to him. Rose evenly held his gaze but stayed silent, giving him time to reach his own decision.

Sherlock's focus shifted over to the door, and he called out, "Mrs. Hudson!"

"It will be better if Ms. Tyler remains here. Mycroft already has my building under surveillance. We'll, of course, wait until your negotiations with him are completed before letting him be aware of the fact you are here. I'm afraid that means it may be best if you stay indoors until then," Sherlock explained to Rose and John.

The two of them gave him a puzzled look, but John's expression cleared just before Mrs. Hudson came through the door.

"Sherlock, you don't need to yell. You could always come down and knock on my door." She spotted Rose and smiled, "Oh, hello dear. You must be a new client, then."

"Actually," John started, "I think she's your new tenant."

"Precisely. The basement flat is still unoccupied, correct?" Sherlock queried, the barest hint of a smile audible in his voice.

"Oh, you know it is, but she hasn't even seen it, Sherlock. How do you know she'd want to take it?" Mrs. Hudson gave him an exasperated look.

Rose's lips quirked into a smile, "I trust their judgment. Besides, if you put up with this one," Rose waved a hand in Sherlock's direction, "you must have a great deal of patience." John tried not to laugh at Sherlock's slightly flustered scowl. "A good landlady is worth quite a bit."

"Oh, the stories I could tell you! He gets bored, and he shoots the wall. I don't know how many times I've told him to stop. And don't get me started on what he gets up to in the kitchen." Mrs. Hudson seemed almost gleeful to have someone to share stories with.

"Yes, yes, now why don't you go make sure the flat is ready and whatever else you need is set up." Impatient, Sherlock got out of his chair to herd Mrs. Hudson towards the door.

She swatted at him, intentionally missing. "I have to have a name, dear."

Rose's eyes danced with amusement as she answered the question. "M'name is Rose Tyler."

"Wonderful to meet you, dear. Any friend of John and Sherlock's is welcome here." She paused to ask thoughtfully, "Are you going to be sharing it with anyone, dear?"

"No," Rose answered politely, but her expression shifted to flat at the question.

"Oh, oh, I'm sorry, dear. Well, if you do add someone as a resident, just let me know, so I can add his name. Or hers. Doesn't make a difference to me, obviously." Mrs. Hudson gestured towards John and Sherlock.

"How many times do I have to tell you, we're not a–" John sighed. "Oh, never mind."

Rose's lips twitched, and the sparkle of amusement relit in her eyes. "Thank you for that. Just let me know when you have the paperwork ready, yeah?"

"Of course, my dear. You will need furniture. It doesn't come furnished," she warned.

"No problem. I can arrange for some things to be delivered. That alright?" Rose inquired.

Sherlock made a slightly exasperated sound and started herding Mrs. Hudson towards the door again. "Yes, yes, we'll make sure Ms. Tyler is all set. Now off you go." He virtually shoved her out the door and then shut it firmly.

"If we are worried about Moriarty finding Rose, should Mrs. Hudson have that name?" John questioned.

"Yes, well, other than her proclivity to misinterpret one's preferences, and tendency to otherwise be domestic, Mrs. Hudson is protective of her tenant's privacy. This will be especially true since I plan on asking her to be discreet." Sherlock brushed a hand down his clothes, moving to sit back down in his chair.

"How are you going to explain that one to her?" John countered, skeptical.

"By giving her just enough of the truth–that Rose lost her family and husband. It was tragic, and she doesn't want anyone to trace her here and bother her about it. It will appeal to her tendency to mother everyone and make her protective of Ms. Tyler."

Rose swallowed and then nodded in understanding. "You are giving her a reason not to dig deeper, while still being honest. Works."

"We still need to furnish the flat." John pointed out.

"That I can assist with," IDRIS cheerfully offered. John must have forgotten about the AI, because he gave it a startled look. "I can arrange for it to have been ordered some time ago to help hide any suspicion. I'll just need Rose to approve the selection."

"Ta," Rose reached for the laptop to look over what the AI had picked out.

Sherlock cleared his throat. "I still have some questions about your encounter with Moriarty."

"I have an auditory recording of the incident, if that would be helpful," the AI offered.

"Yeah. Go ahead and play it. That way we can make sure I don't miss any details." Rose shrugged. Her eyes flicked up to meet Sherlock's and then flashed over to John.

The two men listened to the recording without comment. Sherlock remained perfectly still the entire time. John, however, made several aborted motions that indicated he was biting back comments. When it was finally over, he looked at Rose and shook his head. "That was either one of the bravest things I've ever heard or the stupidest. I can't decide which."

"What that was, John, was smart. Moriarty is an incredibly intelligent psychopath. If she bores him, he'll just kill her. What she did was keep herself interesting. Even angry, as long as she remains interesting, he won't kill her–at least not right away," Sherlock explained smoothly. The barest hint of admiration colored his tone, though he'd probably deny it. "Now shut up. I need to think."

John shot Sherlock a bemused look as the consulting detective began staring off into the distance. Experience told him that the other man would stay like that for a while. He might as well make sure that Rose was alright after everything she'd endured. And a cup of tea wouldn't hurt. More could be done later, after he and Sherlock made sure Rose was safe.


	11. Chapter 11 - Moment of Calm

**John gets Rose some tea, Sherlock and IDRIS interact.**

**Many thanks to my beta Veritascara, thanks to her this story is readable, and she keeps me in line. So glad you guys are enjoying the story, I treasure each review. I'm holding my breath a bit on this chapter, hope you all enjoy!**

**-0-**

_"What that was, John, was smart. Moriarty is an incredibly intelligent psychopath. If she bores him, he'll just kill her. What she did was keep herself interesting. Even angry, as long as she remains interesting, he won't kill her–at least not right away," Sherlock explained smoothly. The barest hint of admiration colored his tone, though he'd probably deny it. "Now shut up. I need to think."_

_John shot Sherlock a bemused look as the consulting detective began staring off into the distance. Experience told him that the other man would stay like that for a while. He might as well make sure that Rose was alright after everything she'd endured. And a cup of tea wouldn't hurt. More could be done later, after he and Sherlock made sure Rose was safe._

-0-

With a hand under her arm, John steered Rose into the kitchen, insisting that she sit down in a chair. He then busied himself with making some tea as Rose cast a curious eye over the contents of the kitchen table. "He's got a regular little chemistry lab in here, doesn't he?"

John glanced over, puzzled, at the amusement in Rose's tone. That was not the typical response most people had to viewing their kitchen. Horror, shock–those were much more in line with how people generally reacted. Instead, Rose seemed mostly amused, with a touch of curiosity about her as she gazed at the microscope and test tubes.

"Yes, he's constantly testing things. I honestly can't follow along with half of what he does. The only good thing about it is that it keeps him out of trouble between cases." He continued to work on the tea and turned to watch her as he spoke, "You just might not want to open the refrigerator–tends to give people a bit of a start."

Rose's eyes brightened with laughter. "That's where he keeps the body parts that he gets from Molly, right?" She tilted her head, studying the door. "Has he ever put a whole head in there? That would really give someone a start."

John rolled his eyes and brought the mugs of tea over, handing one to Rose. He pulled out a chair for himself and sat down. "Yes, he has. Did give me a bit of a surprise. It doesn't faze Mrs. Hudson anymore; though she does tend to scold him about it. "

Rose's warm laughter rewarded him, and he gave his friend a small smile. "I must say, you are taking this rather well. Most people would be a wreck right about now."

The laughter dimmed slightly in Rose's eyes, but the smile remained. "You have to understand, John, I've led a rather . . . adventurous life. For almost a decade now. I've seen things both beautiful and utterly horrifying. After a while, you either learn to deal with it, or it drives you mad." She wrapped both hands around the mug in her hands. "I never really had that problem, though; it was the adventure I loved–even the danger." The expression on her face morphed into something thoughtful. "And in the end, Moriarty is still a man. I've faced worse things than that."

"Worse than Moriarty?" John's tone became incredulous. "Now that has got to be a story."

Her lips twisted into a wistful smile as she studied John. "An' I hope someday I can tell you. But not quite yet. You aren't ready for it yet."

John's tone turned mild, "You have seen my flatmate, right? I can handle just about anything."

"I'll give you that, but this story is on a whole other level," Rose replied without any remorse.

"Well, how about a story you can tell me? Like I said, he'll probably be like that for a while."

She studied John's expectant expression and felt something warm inside. Rose knew exactly what he was doing: trying to distract her from her worries. If she drew his attention to this fact, he'd just deny it, and then ask for a story again. So with a smile, she launched into a highly edited version of one of the adventures she and the Doctor had.

-0-

In the living room, Sherlock gazed vacantly as his concentration focused inwards. Mentally, he slotted the various pieces of the puzzle together. The level of technology Rose Tyler had . . . no one would suspect that something that advanced existed. Giving even hints of it would cause most to be skeptical about either her claims or her sanity. But revealing evidence of it–that could incite avarice in the more powerful, and that would be the nature of Moriarty's interest. He had obviously been watching her long enough to see evidence of the superior technology functioning. Even if he had no knowledge of the full extent of the tech, what little he did know about would be more than enough to inflame his desire to possess–or destroy.

Sherlock had meant what he had said about Ms. Tyler's actions towards Moriarty. She couldn't lose Moriarty's interest; the time that would have been an option had passed. But she could maintain the value to him of keeping her alive. A distinct possibility remained that Moriarty already had awareness of Ms. Tyler's dealings with his brother. That would certainly instigate his need to possess her and her technology. Association with himself, Sherlock Holmes, would also increase her value as a playing piece and place her within the game Moriarty had initiated between them–a game that neither had made any overt moves in for some time.

Eventually, both his brother and Moriarty would realize the location of Ms. Tyler's living accommodations. His brother would be annoyed that Sherlock hadn't said anything, which created an added bonus for Sherlock. The fact that keeping Ms. Tyler safe also happened to be in his brother's best interests had nothing to do with the matter. When Moriarty found out Ms. Tyler's proximity to him, it would increase the stakes of the game they played, meaning, he wouldn't necessarily put full effort into capturing Ms. Tyler again but focus on toying with them, instead. That would entertain the psychopath. And the longer Moriarty continued the game, the greater the chance he would make a mistake that Sherlock could capitalize on. Thus, keeping Rose here, and in his presence, became the best course of action for her protection.

The image of Rose crumpled on the floor of his flat flashed through his mind. He ruthlessly pushed it away. His desire to keep her here had absolutely nothing to do with his personal need to protect her. Wait . . . Where did _that_ idea come from? Sherlock's thought process started to stutter and threatened to break apart. Emotion had no place here. But as he struggled to push it away, John and Rose's laughter drifted in from the kitchen, somehow dragging him out of his mind palace and back into the waking world.

Sherlock scowled, and then his eyes landed on Rose's laptop, which she had left behind. The open backpack sitting next to it appeared tempting, but he had no desire to abuse the implied trust. He needed her to trust him in order to optimize his play in the game that Moriarty would stage. The AI on the other hand–it could provide him with additional details about Rose's herding by Moriarty and replay the recording. That had to be what brought him out of his mind palace: the need for additional information to accurately evaluate potential patterns of action Moriarty might take.

Getting up, Sherlock moved over to the couch and picked up Rose's laptop, setting it on his lap as he perched cross-legged on the couch. He flexed his fingers and instinctively worked them over the keyboard in an attempt to gain access to additional information.

"Oi! You didn't even bother to buy me a drink yet."

The male voice that issued from the laptop caused Sherlock to sit back, regarding it. Of course there would be safeguards still in place. Hands hovering over the keyboard, he cleared his throat. "That would be highly illogical, as I very much doubt you imbibe alcohol." Sherlock's dry tone didn't seem to have effect the AI–not that the detective expected it to.

"It's the principle of it! You can't just go ahead and access information from me without proper permission being granted. Rose left me active here with you, so obviously she intended me to supply you with additional information as needed. However, she merely introduced me to you and Dr. Watson. You only have limited permissions and actions allowed with that introduction. So keep your grabby hands to yourself," IDRIS's voice colored with indignation as it explained. "Honestly, treating me as if I was just some simple . . ."

"Computer?" Sherlock supplied, tenting his fingers together and drawing his arms closer into his body.

"I am far more than any mere computer or user interface that you are used to, and you are well aware of that fact, Sherlock Holmes." Sherlock lifted an eyebrow at the AI's testy tone.

"You are right; I am. However," Sherlock challenged, "your interface is set up along the lines of a device most are familiar with operating on their own without interference, of which you should be well aware yourself."

Most people would find it odd to be conversing with a computer. But then again, most people weren't Sherlock Holmes, nor had they had the advanced technological capabilities displayed for them.

"Of course I know what I look like. This design was selected with a structural look that would be familiar and nonthreatening to most humans. The point was to have ways for Rose to interact with me without drawing overt attention to the superiority of my technology. She, in fact, has several ways to discretely communicate with me, and I have multiple methods to reach out and access information without drawing attention to myself." The AI sounded a bit insulted.

"Then it should be hardly shocking that I treated you like the instrument you were designed to impersonate. If anything, it is proof that your disguise is functioning as intended," Sherlock replied with a frosty tone.

"But you know that I am far more than what I appear, do you not, Sherlock Holmes?" IDRIS countered.

Silence filled the room for a moment.

"I am forced to admit you are rather . . . unique. Though I am a bit mystified as to why you were programmed to be so . . . difficult," Sherlock stiffly retorted, after gathering his thoughts again.

"I wasn't programmed to interface with you or anyone else, really. I am programmed to interact with Rose Tyler."

"Oh, for God's sake! I just want to get the information I need to help anticipate the pattern of Moriarty's potential attacks against Rose," Sherlock rolled his eyes, exasperated.

"Why didn't you say so in the first place? Now, where would you like to start?"

Sherlock glared at the computer, wary of the AI's suddenly cooperative behavior. "Ms. Tyler stated that Moriarty was herding her. I'd like information on the course she took through London."

IDRIS seemed unruffled at Sherlock's crisp address. The screen simply lit up with a map of London, zeroed in on a location, and highlighted Rose's route. "This is where I picked up on the fact someone was using the surveillance cameras to track her movements. Upon Rose's orders, I plotted out a course to take her in and out of their line of sight as I attempted to trace the source to its location." Icons for cameras flashed on the screen. "At the locations marked in red, her path was blocked, and we were forced to reroute."

"Hmmm. That would be where he started to force her travels into the direction he desired. Were you successful at tracing back the point of origin?" The detective queried, betraying mild curiosity within his question.

"No. I was getting close when they set a rather nasty virus loose on me." A red X appeared on the screen. "There. At that point of the route."

"Damn. Well, I suppose the important part was that you recovered in time to get Rose out of danger," Sherlock carelessly replied.

"I can tell you it was an extremely nasty virus for its type. Whoever designed it–definitely at the higher end of the intelligence level. No real match for me, of course," IDRIS sniffed. "It was just a cheap delay tactic.

At that, Sherlock's eyes narrowed, he brought the tips of his fingers to tap his mouth before pulling them apart. "Of course, a delay tactic; he was testing to see if someone was assisting Ms. Tyler. If she was actively operating the search, she would have had to stop to deal with the virus. But because she kept going, he knows it was operating independently of her. Of course, the fact that she got away would confirm that for him." Sherlock jumped up, put the laptop on the couch, and started to pace.

"So if she did get away, he'd suspect her of being with said ally. No offense, but your current level of technology means that he wouldn't make the deduction that it was an AI," IDRIS pointed out.

"None taken. And you are correct–he would assume an individual was assisting her. So the plan was in two parts–to flush out an ally and, not only get Ms. Tyler, but get the ally as well." A faint manic light flickered in Sherlock's eyes as he paced.

"So the fact that she was unconscious and alone when she vanished in front of his henchmen should further confuse him. The only reason she got the darts out of her leg in time would be due her higher than normal drug resistance, which he wouldn't know to expect. Even with that, we almost ran out of time."

"Yes, one wonders what he will make of that." Sherlock mused in reponse IDRIS's statement. "At the very least, he will be rethinking some of his plans, and trying to figure the identity of Ms. Tyler's ally. He may even try to draw that individual out into the open. For now, we have an advantage because he'll be looking for a human ally, not an electronic one."

"When he finds out where Rose is, it's possible he'll think it is you," the AI pointed out.

"Which is what makes the game all that more exciting."

"Game? _Game?!_ This is Rose's life, not a game. Moriarty gets his hands on her, and he'll kill her because she'll refuse to cooperate with him," IDRIS snapped.

"I won't let that happen," Sherlock responded almost immediately, a dark expression lurking on his face, his voice laced with a veiled threat.

"Good to know that. For a mo' I was worried I was becoming a chess piece." Rose's cheerful, but dry voice greeted Sherlock's ears, momentarily throwing him off track.

He frowned, disturbed by the fact he hadn't noticed her re-enter the room. Technically, not much separated the kitchen from the sitting room. But however engrossed he had been in his deductions, he should have noticed her return. He replied stiffly, attempting to disguise his discomfort, "It is rather bad for business if I allow a client to become captured or killed."

"Hmmm," Rose pretended to think about it, "I suppose you are right." Then she offered a friendly grin. "It's getting late. John's ordering take out. You want anything?"

"John knows my preferences," he replied haughtily.

"All right. You boys getting along okay in here?" Rose questioned, an eyebrow arched.

"Yes, just fine." Sherlock claimed quickly, his reply overlapping with IDRIS's cheerful, "Just fine, Rose. A-okay. Oooh, don't let me say that again. Removing that from the language banks."

"Good. And IDRIS?"

"Yes, Rose?"

"Go ahead and keep Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson listed as having permission for level one interaction."

"Sure, sure. I'll need a sample of Dr. John Watson's DNA at some point. I already have Sherlock Holmes' from when he attempted to get into the backpack earlier," IDRIS declared, notably smug at that last statement.

Sherlock glowered at the AI, but Rose's laugh caused him to swing his head back in her direction. "S'fine. Just keep the little toys safe and sound, alright? We'll get you John's DNA in a bit."

"Of course, I will," IDRIS responded calmly.

As Rose vanished back into the kitchen area, Sherlock's turned in the direction of the backpack. Her comment of little toys ignited the itch of his curiosity. His fingers twitched, intrigued as to just what else might be in that bag, and he heard the faint sound of the zipper closing itself. "Don't even think about it," the AI warned menacingly.

"Of course not. I need Rose's trust, and I won't break it by invading her privacy." At least, he didn't intend to do so at the moment–not that the AI needed to know that qualifier.

"You better not. I do have some self-defense capabilities." IDRIS maintained its suspicion. "Do you need any further information?"

"No," Sherlock strode over and pushed the laptop closed, a muffled "hey" coming from beneath the lid. "I need silence so I can think."

Satisfied he had the last word, Sherlock moved to the window and picked up his violin. Setting the bow to the strings, he let the inner turmoil that disquieted his thoughts channel into the music. He would exorcise this demon from his body, so that cold, clear, calm logic alone would move him. The residual fear from Baskerville, the self-doubt, and the strange response he had to Rose–all of it he poured into the music, into the winding notes and the sorrowful sound of the violin, permeating the air. When he finally felt empty–felt clean–he brought the music to a close and lifted the bow from the strings.

"That was beautiful." Sherlock turned his head at Rose's quiet speech to see her sitting on the couch again.

"It helps me think."

"Well, those must have been some really deep thoughts, then."

Rose's smile warmed a small spot in his center, and in that moment, he realized that the music hadn't reached his original intended goal. It didn't purge him of anything. Instead, he'd experienced a moment of clarity.

When Sherlock didn't respond, Rose broke the silence again. "John said he'd be right back. Just picking up everything."  
"Right."

His simple answer seemed to satisfy her.

He continued to watch her, with the new-found realization that he was in fact changing–just a little. John's friendship had started the alteration, but Rose represented some nebulous future evolution that could occur. He didn't want to label or examine its vague nature too closely, really. The first shift he wouldn't stop; he owed John too much for putting up with him. Whether or not he embraced the future transformation Rose potentially represented, must remain to be seen.


	12. Chapter 12 - The Games We Play

**The Doctor's Hologram plays, Rose settles in, and a deal is struck.**

***Gives out hugs* thanks to everyone for the reviews and support. Huge thanks to my ever diligent and wonderful beta Veritascara**

**-0-**

Rose curled into a partially upright position on the bed–Sherlock's bed, actually. Her furniture wouldn't be arriving until the next day, and she had planned on taking a kip on their couch. However, much to her and John's surprise, for some reason, Sherlock had insisted that she use his room to sleep in tonight. He had thrown cutting logic at her to make it seem that using the couch would be a huge inconvenience, that it would be so much better for everyone if she simply used his room.

A smile played on her lips as she remembered the Doctor often using a rush of logic to convince people to do things his way. It seemed he and the detective had a great deal in common. That in itself was a comfort; it made it easier to accept the small kindness underneath the brisk and rude exterior. Rose didn't kid herself about it. Sherlock did have an ulterior motive; the Doctor often had, as well. For now, she would just accept the gift she had been given and not try to pick it apart.

From outside the apartment came the faint sounds of London, inside the quiet sounds of night whispered. Sherlock had been pacing, but the sounds of his movement had ceased, so a clock somewhere ticking away the seconds of time and the quiet night air breathing around her were the only noises now remaining.

Leaning over the edge of the bed, Rose reached down for her backpack. Hauling it up beside her, she pulled the laptop out–and the small holographic projector. Placing the laptop on the bed, she centered the holographic projector on its top, softly snapping as it locked into place. A few seconds later the image of her late husband, smiling at her, bloomed into life.

_"Hello, Rose. If this is playing, that means you have made the trip and are in a brand new place–a Doctor-less place–but a brand new place nonetheless. Or it means I have massively screwed up, and this projection is playing while I'm still alive, and in that case, well, I love you?"_ The image gave her a sheepish grin, and she smiled at it. A moment later, a soft click issued from behind her, but when she turned to look around the room, she couldn't see anything amiss. With a shrug, Rose returned her attention to the holograph.

_"I really do love you, you know, and I really hope that I spent every day telling you that. Because it does need saying. You deserve to hear it, and I feel it with all of my one, singular heart. You know, at times I still feel like I have two. How could I not when I love you this much?"_ A heartbreakingly beautiful smile graced his face before he cleared his throat to continue.

_"Anyways, that wasn't the point of this particular recording. It was just very hard for me not to say it. Blimey, I've changed from the days I couldn't say it, haven't I?"_ His astonishment surprised a soft, watery laugh out of her, and his smile crinkled the corners of his eyes and warmed her inside.

_"Now if I can keep from distracting myself, I do have a message for you. First, congratulations on making the trip. It's a brand new adventure–whole new place to explore, and if I know you, to find trouble. I want you to enjoy it, even though I can't be there to enjoy it with you. I want you to be happy, to have a brilliant, wonderful, fantastic life. Jump into life there: try new things, eat strange foods, try not to land in strange jails, kiss strangers–all of it, I want for you."_ Rose sat so engrossed in the recording, she didn't notice that the door to the bedroom had opened a crack–not much, just enough for someone to get a glimpse inside the room.

Her Doctor stuck a hand in his hair to ruffle it before sliding it down to rub the back of his neck as he continued, _"Now I want you to remember something I told you once: Sometimes, what you need most in the universe is a hand to hold. Just because I'm gone doesn't mean you can't find that again. I want you to. Whether it be a friend, or . . . someone that means something more, please find someone, Rose. I want you to be as happy as you made me."_

Rose's expression sobered as she listened.

_"You make life better just by being there, not just for me, but for other people, as well. Don't shut that gift away; find people, and let them help you be happy. Now I'm not saying you need to go out and find someone to make better the way you made me better. I'm also not saying you have to do any of this right away, but you should, sometime soon. Find a good friend at least, Rose, if not something more. You aren't being disloyal to me to do so. If anything, you are carrying out my last wishes."_

Rose sniffed and hugged one of the pillows close to her.

The Doctor appeared to be affected by his own words because he swiped a hand across his eyes, accompanied by a sniff that echoed her own. "Well, you know me; I could keep going on and on, but I've already said the important bits. Just remember, you are brilliant. You have been and always will be loved." The image shoved his hands into the pockets of his suit jacket and beamed a soft smile at her.

It didn't say anything more, but it stayed on as she curled up on the bed, resting her head against the other pillow. A few tears trickled down freely, dampening the pillowcase. The silence settled in around her, and eventually her eyes grew heavy and slid shut. A minute later the image vanished, taking the faint glow with it, leaving the room shrouded in darkness. There was the faintest of clicks as the door was pulled shut once more.

-0-

The next day began with a bustle of activity as everything arrived. Somehow, IDRIS had managed to arrange it so all the items showed up at once, as if it had been planned well in advance. It made things a bit hectic, but Rose managed and started to organize her new flat. She enjoyed it, as it kept her occupied and from dwelling on things. Sherlock took one look at the mundane activities and made excuses to remain in his flat. But Mrs. Hudson seemed to be having the time of her life since Rose had invited her in to help arrange everything.

Sherlock had obviously done as he had said he would and given Mrs. Hudson the story of the tragedy in Rose's life. She hadn't batted an eye at the fact that the deliveries had asked for her. When all the delivery people left, she kept up a sunny conversation with Rose–not asking questions, just sharing stories and her company with the younger woman. Between the two of them, the flat was actually set up fairly quickly. The delivery men had moved all the heavy things, so it was just a matter of organizing the rest. Rose left the door open an inch in invitation for John or Sherlock, if he happened to let curiosity get the better of him.

In the kitchen, Mrs. Hudson watched Rose as she prepared the tea. "Now that's the proper way to do it, dear. Not many young folk these days take the time to learn how to properly make tea."

"My Mum would have had my head if I didn't know how to make a proper cuppa," Rose gave the older woman a crooked smile. "No matter what was wrong, that was her solution for everything: boyfriend troubles, come have a cuppa; having a bad day, sit down, and let me make you a cuppa. And she was generally right about that too. Somehow things didn't seem quite so bad."

Mrs. Hudson watched with bright eyes as Rose continued the ritual. When Rose sat down after placing a cup in front of both of them, she reached over to pat her on the arm. "You miss her."

"Yes. And I probably always will. It seems like just yesterday she was scolding me for working too hard or not coming over for dinner enough." It hurt, Rose reflected, but not as much as it had before. With a jolt, she realized that, just possibly, she had begun to heal.

When her eyes refocused, she could see the question in Mrs. Hudson's eyes. "It's been well over a year now–not quite a year-and-a-half since I lost them. Sometimes I wonder if I will ever stop expecting them to call me on the phone or come through the door."

"That will fade over time. When you realize it has, it will make you a little sad. It's hard when we lose someone; it's like they take a little piece of your heart with them when they go. The good thing is, when you make a new friend, they give you a little piece of their heart, and it helps fill the hole." With another comforting pat, Mrs. Hudson picked up her tea to take a sip. "Oh, your mother would be proud of you. This is a perfect cup of tea."

"Thank you," Rose smiled warmly. "That is a lovely thing to say–all of it, really." Sitting back, Rose's smile grew even wider. "I feel really lucky that John decided to take pity on me that day."

"Oh, he's a good boy. They both are. Sherlock can be a bit rude at times, but he's still a good boy. John has his hands full looking after him." Rose had to hide a smile at Mrs. Hudson's implication that the two were involved.

"Well, John certainly is good at looking out for people. He's a great friend to have."

"Did I hear someone say my name?" The man in question poked his head in through the door and took a look around the flat.

"In here, John," Rose called from the kitchen. "We're just having tea. Do you want some?"

"If it's not too much trouble," John replied as he made his way into the small kitchen. His eyes skimmed the now-furnished flat before he took a seat at the kitchen table. It had a welcoming feel to it. Most of the color choices seemed to be dark blue, complimented by warm wood. Framed prints graced the walls, and everything was tucked into place. "This place looks amazing, like you have been here for ages."

"Thanks," Rose grinned as she got up to get another cup for his tea. "The movers did the heavy lifting, and Martha helped me get it all sorted. Genius she is at that."

"Oh, it was nothing, dear. I mostly just kept you company." She flapped a hand at Rose, a pleased blush on her face.

"It was more than nothing, so thank you." Rose set the cup in front of John, pouring his tea.

John doctored his own cup and took a sip. His eyebrows went up, and he pulled back to appraise his tea, "That has got to be the best cup of tea I've ever had." Belatedly, he looked over to Mrs. Hudson, who had made tea for him many a time. "I mean, that is, next to yours."

The older woman just laughed, "Quite alright, dear. I said the same thing. Apparently, her mother taught her, and very well."

"Blimey, you would think no one ever made proper tea for the pair of you before," Rose laughed.

"It's nice, dear, to have someone do it for me. Usually, I'm the one fixing the tea." Mrs. Hudson gave John a pointed look.

"And an excellent job you do of it. We'd be lost without you." John paused, a look of consideration on his face. "Never trust Sherlock in the kitchen. You're likely to end up with eyeballs in your soup or something like that."

"I'll be sure to keep that in mind." Dry humor infused Rose's voice.

There was a faint buzzing noise, and Rose paused to dig her phone out of her pocket. Looking at the screen, her lips curved into a slow smile. "Well, then. It looks like Mr. Holmes accepted my business proposal."

Mrs. Hudson furrowed her brow. "You mean Sherlock? I thought you were already some sort of client, dear."

"No. Mycroft." Rose flicked a glance at the older woman as she started rapidly typing something on her phone. "Looks like I have a delivery to make."

"Is that wise?" John's expression turned grave.

"Can't be helped. Although I can be discreet about it. It's not like I'm going to wave a big sign going _here I am_ to people." The dry humor echoed in Rose's voice again.

"Still, after everything that happened, I think we should at least bring Sherlock into this conversation," John persisted.

Rose rolled her eyes, "I do not need Sherlock Holmes' help for a bloody delivery."

"I never said you did, Ms. Tyler. However, you did come to us for help. May I suggest you listen?" The trio at the table looked up to see the object of their discussion in the doorway.

"Oh, fine. Now you get curious enough to join us down here–after all the work is done." Rose's reply had the tiniest bit of a bite to it, which was softened by her smile.

Sherlock resisted the urge to smile back. He had been aware of the activities and the sound of female laughter drifting up from below. It was a matter of pride for him to resist the tug of curiosity to see what was going on. But he wanted to see the flat because it would give him more insight on her. What people surrounded themselves with pointed to inner characteristics. So when John's voice had entered their conversation, he needed to join them, of course. All three of them together were bound to end up in some misadventure if he was not there to supervise them.

The color choices and the furniture she had picked, even while they did not currently show any signs of wear, could indicate multiple things. He noted that the predominate color was blue, an unsurprising choice, as it was always one of the most popular colors, and known to possess calming physiologic effects, as well. The darker blue, as opposed to a lighter color, indicated the desire for a warm, welcoming feeling. The use of wood furniture, rather than metal or glass, also contributed to a relaxed environment, one that placed high value on a more natural ambience. While there were items scattered about, the empty spaces on shelves, tables, and bookcases stood out to him. Books could have been ordered, as well as generic decorations. However, Rose had chosen not to do this. That indicated she wanted to select individual choices to fill those spaces, which would take time. A few items had been placed around, photographs and other bric-à-brac, things of sentimental value, most likely.

His mind stuttered to a stop on that fact he identified them as objects with sentimental value. He frowned, picking one of them up. Where had they come from? She had arrived only with a backpack, which had appeared to be empty, save for the fact she had pulled her laptop and a few personal items out of it. She had not left the building, and the item he was currently holding was fashioned in a manner indicating that a child of approximately four years had made it. That particular item spoke of a personal gift–not something one would order to be delivered. So where had it come from? He filed the question away to puzzle over as he put the item back down again.

The framed prints on the wall caught his attention, and he moved over to study them. Only a few graced the walls, leaving room for additional items to be selected and placed. That made their impact at the moment greater. One was a photographic image of the earth and moon from space, another, an oil painting of what appeared to be an artistic rendition of stars in a night sky, and the third, a reproduction of Van Gogh's _Starry Night_. The choices were interesting–each a different type of representation of the night sky from various viewpoints. This indicated some degree of interest, or fascination, with outer space. It could also represent a desire for travel. However, no additional depictions of foreign locations graced the apartment. He stopped and glanced into her bedroom, which followed the pattern in her living room.

Her choices clarified some of the puzzle, but gave him more questions. This was not a transient's dwelling; instead, it appeared Rose Tyler planned a long-term residency. His sudden pleased feeling at that deduction was simply a result of solving part of the puzzle, nothing else. Every scrap of packing material had already been disposed of. Now this could indicate Mrs. Hudson's influence, or an innate need for order. Occasionally, he met with individuals who craved order despite a chaotic lifestyle. This allowed them some control over their environment, due to a lack of control elsewhere. This could easily be tested, of course. Drifting around the room, he deliberately rearranged items. He'd have to check later to see if she had returned them to their original positions.

That done, he finally moved towards the kitchen to make his presence known. He had, of course, been listening the entire time. Mycroft's name had just sharpened the pull, and justified his intrusion. "I scarcely think I would be the one best to advise you on home décor. I have more important matters to consider."

Rose tilted her head to the side, pretending to consider. "Quite right. And of course, there is always the fact that your flat displays that your talents do not lie in that area."

Sherlock ignored the small jibe in favor of making himself at home in her kitchen. A small smile graced his lips when he found where she kept her teacups on the first try. Helping himself to the tea, he leaned against the kitchen counters rather than taking the empty chair at the table. "Obviously, such trifling matters are a waste of my considerable intellectual talent. Dealing with my brother, as well as other issues–that is where I have much more experience than you do."

Her smile didn't lose any of the amusement that hovered there. "With those specific individuals, you are correct. However, I am not without my own experience and expertise."

"I am well aware of that, Ms. Tyler," Sherlock replied blandly. "However, you might want to heed what I have to say. Unless, of course, you would rather be at a disadvantage while you deal with my brother–or with any other nuisance that is currently in your life.

Rose rolled her eyes, "I never said I wasn't going to take your advice now, did I?"

Not bothering to lower her voice, Mrs. Hudson leaned over towards John. "Are they always like this?"

"Like what?" John looked at her in honest surprise.

"It's like they are playing a verbal game of chess, of course." Mrs. Hudson looked over at Sherlock. "I'd be careful, dear. Even I know that if the king is toppled, the game is over. But everyone also knows the queen is the most powerful piece in the game."

Sherlock opened his mouth to retort, but Rose's laughter silenced it. She reached over to pat one of Mrs. Hudson's hands. "Oh, I like you, Martha."

The older woman smiled at Rose, "And I like you. Now, I'm sure you have some matters to discuss with these two, so I'll get out of your way. Now don't hesitate to come see me if you need anything."

"Only if you promise to come back and have tea with me again," Rose replied.

Mrs. Hudson's face flushed with pleasure. "Of course I will, dear." Getting up from her seat, she waved a finger at Sherlock as she took her teacup over to the sink. "You be nice to Rose."

He gave her an irritated huff, "I'm always nice to people."

"No, you aren't," John replied matter-of-factly.

"Now boys, behave," Mrs. Hudson scolded them both. "I'll just let myself out. See you later, dear."

"Bye, Martha." Rose watched her leave, not bothering to hide her amusement.

With the sound of the door closing, Sherlock turned towards Rose, his expression bordering on affronted. "I am well aware of the fact you don't trust me with everything. However, if we are to keep you safe and out of Moriarty's hands, then I do need you to trust me with your movements. He can, and will, use any opening he finds to his advantage."

Rose's eyes locked on to his. She seemed to be searching for something, what, he couldn't say. What he wouldn't name: the feeling her gaze boring into his gave him–because it obviously wouldn't cause a kind of flutter inside of him. It couldn't create some sort of bond that tied them together and caused his breath to still in his chest. And it would be absolutely absurd to say that when she dropped her gaze and the connection snapped, that he felt some sort of loss–that he took a deep breath, simply due to the fact that he needed a bit more oxygen. Rose Tyler remained a puzzle to him, one to be studied and solved, no matter what he may have lost his thoughts to last night.

"You're right," Rose answered, her voice light, "about all of it." Her gaze flowed back up to meet his. "What I don't trust you with are just pieces of the puzzle you'll have to figure out for yourself, if you want to know. I do trust your judgment . . . for the most part." A small slice of humor slipped in, most likely to defuse tension.

"IDRIS trusted me enough to bring you to me for help," John gently reminded Rose. "So trust the both of us now–to help you decide how to handle it."

Her gaze shifted over and landed on John, and she smiled briefly before returning to Sherlock. "I suppose you have some ideas on how to handle this then, Mr. Holmes?"

A little smile of triumph curled on his face. "I do. And while we are at it, leave the Mr. Holmes for my brother. Just call me Sherlock."

Her beaming smile absolutely did not cause him to feel anything at all. Of course.

-0-

Mycroft Holmes sat at his desk reviewing files. The hours headed into the evening; however, he partially expected a visitor with unconventional traveling methods to be calling upon him soon. So when a flash of light and a muted thunderclap heralded the arrival of his expected guest, he was ready for it. "Ms. Tyler, so lovely to see you. Please sit."

At his gesture to the seat in front of his desk, Rose gave a small smile. She had deliberately left the opening for him to dig that name out of the connecting accounts that held the money he had deposited. With a graceful nod, she seated herself. "Thank you, Mr. Holmes. You obviously reviewed my offerings and found them satisfactory. I do have all the plans for you." She made no move to remove the envelope that was tucked into her purse yet. "However, I am afraid an additional complication that I was unaware of has arisen. In all fairness, I should disclose it to you before we complete our agreement."

Mycroft sat back with a relaxed air, his face betraying nothing more than mild interest. "Oh, do tell."

"What I did not know at the time of our previous meeting, was that a third party has become aware of my . . . potential. I would much rather not do business with him." Rose and Sherlock had ended up in a bit of an argument about the timing to reveal this and other facts to his brother. In the end, Rose insisted on being consistent with her earlier policy of openness. To her, it meant she retained a sort of moral high ground. That immediately caused Sherlock to roll his eyes. He declared that wouldn't matter much with his brother. In the end, her argument won out, even if she had conceded to him on other things.

His posture stayed relaxed, but Mycroft's mind seized on this little fact. "I would, of course, rather keep our arrangement exclusive. I take it you ran into a bit of trouble?"

"Nothing I couldn't handle." Rose's smile and posture only spoke of confidence. "However, his methods are a bit aggressive, and it is entirely possible that he will attempt to interfere with any arrangement between us. So, I decided to offer you the option to rescind your offer, if you desire to."

That was nothing more than a ploy; Mycroft was sure of it. She knew what she offered was invaluable, that there was no way he would allow her to make this sort of arrangement with someone else. However, he would continue this little game with her. "Who is it that wishes to make an exclusive arrangement with you?"

"A man who introduced himself to me as Jim Moriarty," Rose responded, her tone even and calm.

"I see." Only the faintest of flickers betrayed Mycroft's reaction. Most wouldn't have noticed it all. Outwardly, he remained cool and detached as the inner workings of his mind rapidly worked out the various angles. "Ms. Tyler, this in no way changes our agreement. Part of our deal was that you wanted an ally, and you shall have one." The odds that he would allow the technology to fall into the hands of Jim Moriarty were nil, and they both knew it. "May I commend you on making the correct decision against doing business with him and on surviving the encounter?"

"Thank you, Mr. Holmes." Rose reached into her purse and pulled out an envelope. The sides of it bulged out, the shape and size indicating that multiple flash drives caused the distortion of its shape. She offered it across the desk. "You will most likely be pleased to note I have taken up residence at a location that you are already monitoring. The flat below my friend John Watson's happened to be available. I have taken up residency there." On this, both Sherlock and she had agreed. Mycroft would find this information out eventually. Giving it to him now might make her more secure.

Mycroft took the envelope from her, betraying no reaction this time. The inner workings of his mind continued to process the various bits of information, outlining strategies he could take. Both Sherlock Holmes and the Bad Wolf residing in the same building provided benefits, as well as drawbacks. It would make that building a bigger target for Moriarty, but he could work with that fact. Additionally, his brother could help keep an eye on her. He also neatly filed away the fact that his brother neglected to mention that she had moved in. Deliberately done for Sherlock's own purposes: he had no doubt that his brother knew the new tenant's multiple facets. "That does make things rather convenient. You did indicate you will have further offerings for me in the future."

Rose easily heard the question within the statement. "Yes. From time to time I will bring descriptions of items and my asking price. You'll understand if I cannot give you precise dates at this time."

"Of course, what you have presented me so far will keep things busy for some time–" The briefest of hesitations hung in the air. "Ms. Tyler, due to your rather . . . unorthodox methods of business, I may have a proposal for you in the future–minor activities to keep you entertained. You would have right of refusal. What you offer is of value to me, and I have no desire to unnecessarily risk it."

The serene smile on Rose's face warmed. "I would be most interested to hear those proposals, Mr. Holmes. I do believe we have an agreement." She reached forward and offered her hand.

Mycroft took it, enfolding his own around it in a brief handshake. "Indeed, we do."


	13. Chapter 13 - Restless

**Rose gets a bit restless, but Sherlock's not about to let her wander off alone. Moriarty makes his next move, and Rose meets Sally Donovan**

**Thank you everyone for your support for the story, it means so much to me. Good news, you are caught up to what I have done so far. Bad news, it may mean waiting a bit for updates as I am writing two fics at the same time. Your reviews and support keep me going, so thank you for all of that. As always, my eternal gratitude to veritascara, the grammar goddess and the wonder wonderful beta for this fic. **

**-0-**

No matter how nice someone may be, after being hovered over for a few days, even a saint often feels ready to climb the walls. John qualified as a nice person; Sherlock really didn't most of the time. He tended to be rude, manic, utterly brilliant, and have the temperament of a three-year-old; nice didn't normally come into play. And Rose Tyler–definitely not a candidate for sainthood–so, needless to say, she rapidly started to get short tempered over their hovering.

It didn't help that Sherlock seemed not to understand the niceties of personal space or boundaries. The fact that he could pick locks generally meant she could find him prowling around her flat any time of day or night. Sometimes she found him carrying on a conversation with IDRIS, much to her surprise. Okay, conversation might be stretching it a little; it bordered more on an insult competition, much of the time. But eventually, his restless prowling drove her to install a better lock that would work with her sonic.

Rose genuinely liked being around people, but after so long on her own, the closeness began to feel suffocating. IDRIS' company, while a help when she was on her own, didn't have the same impact as someone being physically present. Being a tactile person, hugs or an affectionate chaste touch here and there held importance for her. But right now she yearned to be out on her own. The fact that she hadn't finished exploring her surroundings nagged at her–an unresolved itch. Seeking an exit, Rose contemplated what everyone happened to be doing: Mrs. Hudson's favorite soap should be on, and the landlady would be distracted with it. John would be work. Sherlock didn't have any set schedule she could figure out. Screw it. They could yell at her later; she wanted to go out now.

Dragging on her jacket, she snagged several items, tucked them into her pockets, and headed for the door. Rose paused before opening it, listening for a moment. She wanted to make sure no one would see her leave. Satisfied with the silence, she opened the door, and when she shut it behind her, used the sonic to lock it. There. Let anyone try to pick that lock now! Satisfied, Rose practically bounced out the front door, closing it just as another door at the top of the stairs opened.

Sherlock prided himself on his observational skills, so when a sound he could not identify drifted up from the stairwell, it caught his attention. His curiosity was piqued; he wanted to know what had made the sound. He quickly made his way to the door, intent on locating and identifying it. Odds are it had something to do with Rose Tyler, as she had access to a great deal of unknown technology.

Upon opening his door, he heard the sound of the front door closing, but no further movement in the house. That meant someone had just departed. It could not have been John, and Mrs. Hudson was currently in the thralls of one of her shows, making it unlikely for her to be the culprit, which left Ms. Tyler–an individual he distinctly remembered advising not to leave the building independent of himself or John. With a long suffering sigh, he rolled his eyes and reached for his coat, intent on following.

Once on the street, Sherlock quickly recalled her previous patterns of travel and turned right. Keeping to a fast walk, it didn't take long for him to spot the blonde ahead of him. He allowed a small smile of triumph to momentarily curve the ends of his lips before smoothing his expression out, not bothering to announce his presence until he had caught up with her. "Ms. Tyler, I thought we had agreed you would not be leaving the building alone."

She neither started, nor turned to look at him. "No, you all decided I shouldn't. I never said I agreed to it."

"You did, however, agree that you came to me for help, which includes obeying my advice. This is quite the opposite of my advice." His tone dry, Sherlock shaped each word with utter precision.

Rose finally flicked a glance at him. "Sherlock, I'm not especially good at staying in one place for long. I like having a home base, yes. However, staying there day in and day out is out of the question. I need to move around, explore–be able to be independent." Before he could comment, she plowed on, "Besides, if I give in and stay locked up all the time or constantly waiting around, he wins. He gets to take away my life, and I can't live like that."

Sherlock let silence fall between them. He couldn't refute that statement, even if a part of him wanted to just keep her safe. She potentially represented his key to Moriarty, after all. So instead he stayed silent as she deliberately took her time visiting a shop, chatting up the sales girl. He simply waited, unwilling to either abandon her or show any sign her actions bothered him. "What new device made that noise?"

"What noise?" Momentarily thrown off guard, she shot him a puzzled look.

"In the hallway. There was something different that you used prior to your departure."

"Oh, that," Rose grinned and started wandering again, Sherlock falling into step next to her. "It's a sonic screwdriver."

"A sonic . . . screwdriver," Sherlock replied, his voice flat. "Why would someone need a sonic screwdriver?"

"Oh, it's pretty handy for a number of things–including unlocking doors, or locking them so no one else can open them back up."

Her grin grew bigger, and he detected a hint of her tongue sticking out between her teeth. It took his mind a moment to snap away from that tiny bit of pink and re-engage into thought. "Is that so?" In all likelihood, she knew he would find that a challenge. The expression on her face indicated the accuracy of his deduction.

"Yep! Of course, you could try . . . but you might end up breaking your lock picks."

Offended, Sherlock drew himself up slightly. "I would never be so clumsy as to break my lock picks, and your door can hardly be a challenge."

"Oh, yeah? Twenty quid says you can't open my door after I've used the sonic on it," Rose taunted.

"Why should I bother to participate in your little challenge?" he sniffed.

"Twenty quid. And if you get the door open in under thirty minutes, I'll show you how to use the sonic to lock and unlock doors."

-0-

Two hours and twenty-three minutes after he had started, the front door of 221B Baker Street opened to John returning home from the surgery. He found Rose sitting on the stairwell looking entertained, with a rather determined-looking Sherlock trying to pick the lock on her door. "Lose your keys, Rose?"

"Nope," came her amused reply. "M'just winning twenty quid off Sherlock."

Sherlock ignored them both, continuing to manipulate his lock picks.

John lifted an eyebrow. "You found a way to foil the mighty Sherlock Holmes with a lock he can't pick?"

Rose's grin widened. "More like, I have a tool that can lock it in a way that he can't open."

"That's impressive." John stuck his hands in his pockets. "You do realize he either will refuse to give up, or when he finally does, he'll be sulking for days."

"I do not sulk," Sherlock protested in an affronted tone.

"Yes, you do." John's instant response prompted a snort from Rose.

"Yeah, but he'll owe me twenty quid, and it will keep him out of trouble for a bit," Rose laughed.

With a shrug, John sat down next to her. "I suppose there is that. Though he gets rather difficult when he's sulking. It's not your wall he'll be shooting at with a pistol."

"I only do that when I am bored." Sherlock's phone buzzed in his pocket and he hastily fished it out and checked his texts.

Have you been following the stories about the Bad Wolf?  
Lestrade

His attention caught, Sherlock tapped out a quick response.

I have, why?  
SH

There has been a murder, and the victim was dressed in a red cloak with a hood.  
Lestrade

Give me the address. I'll be right there.  
SH

His expression wiped clean, Sherlock looked up from his phone to the expectant faces of John and Rose. "Moriarty may have made his next move."

John's face immediately shifted to something between his concerned and his soldier's look. At least, that is what Sherlock called it–that combination of seriousness and absolute attentiveness. Everything unessential to the task at hand simply fell away, unimportant–his focus zeroed in and hardened like steel. But Sherlock found himself even more fascinated by Rose's expression–nearly identical to John's. Fear had no place there; room for it didn't exist.

Pushing himself upright, John reflexively offered his hand to Rose. "Should we all go, or would it be better if I stayed behind with Rose?"

"Oh no, you aren't leaving me behind. I'm coming with you. You can stay, of course, John, if that is what you want," Rose interjected before Sherlock could answer.

The phone buzzed in Sherlock's hand, Lestrade had texted him the address. It gave him distraction enough to consider which alternative provided him with the best advantage. He briefly entertained the notion of leaving her behind, but he couldn't escape the theory that her outing earlier that day most likely triggered the murder Lestrade had contacted him about. Further exposure could escalate Moriarty's plans. Whether or not that would be for the best could not be deduced with the limited information he had.

But Sherlock wanted to see how Rose would handle the crime scene. That was the clincher to his decision. How would she react? Would she continue to remain calm and objective, or would an emotional response be evoked? In a way, bringing her would also be beneficial to her. It would help Rose understand the danger that existed from Moriarty's interest. "You both are coming."

Whirling around, he adjusted his coat and headed for the door, leaving John and Rose to follow in his wake. It didn't take them long to catch a taxi, and the trio managed to fit inside. Sherlock sat slightly apart as he listened to John and Rose banter back and forth. They didn't exclude him; if anything, they tried to draw him in. However, one corner of his mind remained latched on to observing Ms. Tyler's behavior–to see her reactions, not to him, but to the bits and pieces that made up his world, which she was being drawn into. As to why he needed that information–well, he did need to understand how she fit in this game he and Moriarty played. The potential that something more to it existed . . . his logic-driven mind rejected that notion outright. This kept him silent on the drive.

When they arrived, Sherlock quickly exited the taxi, leaving John to offer his hand to Rose to help her out. She gave him a grin as she accepted the chivalrous offer. The grin faded when she heard a woman's derisive voice greet Sherlock. "Hello, freak. The Detective Inspector's inside. He's expecting you. For the life of me, I don't know why he allows you to come to these things."

"Perhaps, Sergeant, it's because he need someone with a bit more than your vague glimmer of intelligence in order to actually solve the crime. That is what you are supposed to do, correct?" Sherlock responded, a bit of bite in his tone.

The woman opened her mouth to give a retort, only to widen her eyes. "You two have a woman with you?"

Sherlock didn't bother to look back as Rose and John approached. "Sergeant Donovan, Rose Tyler. Ms. Tyler has a special insight on this case."

Sally Donovan rolled her eyes, the bit of shock fading into annoyance. "I should have known that would be the only way a woman would be hanging around you, Sherlock. Did you tell the Detective Inspector you were bringing her?"

"I fail to see why you need to know what we discussed. You are busy, after all, playing traffic cop." Sounding bored now, Sherlock brushed passed her, leading the way into the house. The Sergeant scowled but allowed them to pass her.

John nudged Rose as they followed. "Don't worry about that. They are always like that. If Anderson is here, you'll see more of that." Rose shot him a strange look but held her tongue for the moment.

They headed up the stairs towards an open door, stopping only to place some protective covering over their shoes. Rose's gaze flicked around, taking in little details as they stepped through the doorway. Dotted throughout the flat, she noted a large number of red balloons–mostly the remains of popped ones scattered about, but an additional few bobbed along the ceiling or had been tied to furniture. In the middle of the living room a sprawled body lay, covered with a hooded red cloak.

An inspector with graying hair straightened up and turned at their entrance. "Ah, there you are, Sherlock." His eyebrows shot up as he took in Rose. "And who's this?"

Rose stepped forward and offered her hand as well as a warm smile to him. "Rose Tyler. You must be Detective Inspector Lestrade. I've heard so much about you. I take it the murderer must have tripped the alarm on their way out of the apartment?"

"Have you now." He shot a look at Sherlock before Lestrade turned his attention back to Rose. "What makes you think the alarm was tripped deliberately?"

Her slight smile widened. "If this is a test, it's a pretty simple one. The most obvious hints are the alarm pad by the door, and how orderly the flat seems to be with the exception of the balloons: they are out of place. The entire tone of the flat seems to be serious scholar, so the balloons had to be deliberate placed, including the pieces. That would have taken time. Additionally, I can see from here depressions in the carpet which indicate furniture that had been sitting there long-term has been moved, again pointing to a scene being set. Third, the red streaks are still wet, fresh. I'm presuming it's blood that hasn't had time to set yet. So it didn't happen that long ago. Combined with the fact you would have to have arrived here and made the decision to contact Sherlock, causing more time to elapse. That says the murderer tripped the alarm on the way out to bring someone here quickly. It wasn't done before, because they needed time to set this all up."

"Well, sure, if you want to go for the obvious," Sherlock interrupted, Rose turning towards him at his reply.

"Sorry, not all of us were born geniuses; we need to do the best we can to make our funny little brains work. I'm just a trained observer." She caught the momentary flicker of surprise on his face before he banished it.

"Two of them?" Lestrade glanced past the pair to John, who looked like he couldn't decide if he wanted to laugh or not.

"Not quite, but it has started to get a bit more entertaining," John replied.

"Oi, it's your own fault for taking pity on a stranger," Rose grinned at him.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "If you are all done, we do happen to have a murder here to investigate."

"Don't let me stop you. Go on then." Her words were playful, but Rose sobered as Sherlock moved over to the body.

He carefully pulled the hooded cape back, examining both it and the body. "Fabric is expensive, rather well made but no labels–mostly likely custom made just for this." With a detached tone, he continued to catalog the information. "There is still the faint smell of peroxide, and her eyebrows are dark. Not a natural blonde–possibly he did this to the victim. The wounds indicate she didn't fight back; the pattern of them says the killer was left-handed." He fished out a tranquilizer dart that had been partially hidden by the cloak. "She was sedated, most likely."

A whirring noise broke his concentration and looked up to see Rose with a slim metal device in her hand. The noise came from the instrument in her hand, and he recognized it from the photos from the cash-point. She aimed it at the body before pulling it up to look at something. "You are right. There are indications of a drug in her system."

Lestrade had crouched down by Sherlock, which distracted him from questioning Rose about the device. He made a mental note to investigate it further later. "You said he made her blonde for this, so you don't think she's this Bad Wolf person?"

"I know she's not the Bad Wolf. This, this is meant to be a warning for her." Sherlock's eyes flicked around the room, taking in all the tiny details.

"A warning? What kind of warning?" Lestrade asked.

Rose's voice answered him, "Join him, or be destroyed."

"And how do we know this Bad Wolf person isn't behind all this."

Sherlock looked over, an expression of irritation painted on his face as he caught sight of the speaker. "Oh, you would be stupid enough to think that, Anderson. No, the person behind this crime is Moriarty. He's the one who is threatening the Bad Wolf."

The forensic specialist bristled, "And why would he be threatening her, if she wasn't some sort of criminal herself? The Bad Wolf could be behind this, setting it up to look like she's being persecuted. No one is that nice that they just go around helping people without getting anything out of it."

"Just because you wouldn't do all that without getting something out of it, doesn't mean everyone is like that," John retorted, before looking over to Rose. He used a softer tone for her. "You alright?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine. M'not surprised to hear him say that. It's what people say all the time. I think I'd like some fresh air . . . let you get on with it." Rose's voice sounded weary, like a tired soldier fighting a battle she can never give up, even if she can't win.

"I meant more–about all this. And I'll come with you." John put a hand on her elbow.

Rose shook her head. "I'll be fine. London's finest outside, yeah? Besides, if he wanted to kill me, he'd have done it already. He doesn't want to do that yet."

"Kill you? Who wants to kill you?" Lestrade straightened up, a serious expression on his face. "Has someone been threatening you and that's why you are with these two?"

A ghost of a smile lit Rose's lips. "Long story, Detective. Right now I just want some fresh air. By myself."

John looked over to Sherlock who gave a small nod. The shorter man made an exasperated sound. "Fine, but don't wander off."

To John's surprise, her whole face lit up, and she laughed, "I wasn't planning on it." Ignoring their bafflement, she turned and made her way out of the building. Behind her, she could hear the Detective Inspector demanding an explanation from Sherlock.

"If I were you, I'd rethink working with Sherlock Holmes." Rose turned to see one of the police officers addressing her–the same officer who had greeted Sherlock when they arrived, who had called him "freak." Rose had let it go at the time, as Sherlock had been more intent on getting into the crime scene, but now the woman addressed Rose directly, likely due to the fact that Rose stood alone for the moment.

Rose lifted her eyebrows and kept her smile polite. "Now that is interesting advice coming from one of the police. D'you mind telling me why you said that, Sergeant Donovan?"

"Because he gets off on it, that's why. He doesn't care about the people involved. To him it's just a big game. He's a psychopath. One of these days solving crimes isn't going to be enough for him; he's going to be the one committing them."

Rose put her hands on her hips but kept the polite smile in place. "Sergeant, is that what is going to happen to you someday, then?"

"What? No! I do this job to protect people. I don't get off on murders the way he does." The other woman's voice turned indignant.

"But you do solve crimes. Can you honestly tell me you never got a thrill out of solving a crime?" Rose challenged, her smile still intact.

"That's not the same thing, I'm trying to help people, catch the bad guy." A scowl graced Donovan's face, and she folded her own arms across her chest. Her body language shifted, and she leaned back on one leg in a defensive posture.

"I see. So you are completely ignoring the fact that Sherlock Holmes uses his more-than-considerable intellect to solve crimes, and that by doing so, he helps you catch the person that committed them. Not to mention the fact that he prides himself on his intellect, which is why he solves puzzles other people create. It is far more difficult to figure out someone else's rules then to create your own. So why would he take a lesser intellectual challenge?" Rose wasn't actually being nasty, genuine curiosity infused her tone, and her smile stayed on her lips.

"You've just seen how he reacted to the fact someone is dead in there. He doesn't care about the person that died; he's happy because he has a puzzle to solve now. He's a bloody psychopath. I still say one day it won't be enough for him to solve crimes. We'll show up, and it will be him that did it." The sergeant glared at Rose, her tone defiant.

Rose remained calm, pleasant even. "Now actually, I disagree with your diagnosis because he's clearly capable of forming some emotional attachments. He actually does care about a few individuals. There is at least one that I know of. Potentially more. He's uninterested in deliberately causing a crime, though he might accidentally break rules because he's not overly fond of them. He's rude, but that is more because of carelessness, an inability to relate to other people's emotions easily, or the desire to protect someone. From my personal experience, I would say possibly a high-functioning sociopath, or possibly a high-functioning autistic." Wrinkling her nose a little as she thought, she used one hand to tick off her points. "Really, if you want to see a psychopath, I'd say look at Jim Moriarty. Now that guy exhibits classic criminal psychopathic behavior. I got to see it first-hand. Let me tell you–creepy and all kinds of crazy. I'm glad I got out of there."

Donovan's eyes widened a touch, her voice incredulous, "You went toe-to-toe with Jim Moriarty?"

Rose's gentle smile reformed on her face. "Yes, and I went to Sherlock for help." Pursing her lips, Rose studied the sergeant, her air that of one picking her words carefully. "Now, I know you probably didn't intend to display the behavior of a bully." When Donovan started to sputter, Rose ignored it and continued. "But . . . what would you call someone who tries to intimidate another individual by referring to them in a derogatory tone?" Nonchalantly Rose looked off in the distance. "There is also the fact that you, in a position of authority, actively tried to dissuade someone from associating with the same individual."

The other woman straightened up and opened her mouth, but before she could say anything, her eyes focused on someone behind Rose. Rose turned around to see DI Lestrade studying her with open curiosity. Behind him, John stood looking very amused, along with Sherlock, who had an inscrutable expression on his face.

"All done, I take it?" She gave the three men a friendly smile.

"Yes, I've seen all I need to." Sherlock studied Rose intently, before flicking a look past her to Sergeant Donovan. "We have a riddle to solve, and it's best to keep you off the street."

He turned around and started to walk away. Rose skipped a couple of steps to catch up. She wound an arm around both Sherlock and John and grinned up at them. John kept his amused smile. Sherlock didn't pull away, but he did seem to be more or less ignoring her arm tucked around his. "As long as there are chips in the future, I'm game."

"There are other food choices, you know," John playfully responded.

"Yeah, but chips are the best." Rose turned to focus her grin on him.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "If you two are quite finished, we do have other priorities at the moment."

Lestrade moved over towards Sally Donovan and watched the trio walk away. "She's a lively one; isn't she?"

Donovan scowled, "Not for long if she keeps hanging out with him." With a disgruntled air, she headed back towards the crime scene.


	14. Chapter 14 - Awareness

**Sherlock attempts to sort out what is in his head, before they go and visit Molly at the Morgue.**

**Here it is my friends! Sorry for the delay, luckily my lovely beta and grammar goddess Veritascara keeps me going *hugs* As do all your lovely reviews and support, thank you. We are going to start to see Sherlock evolve a bit, because this is a Roselock fic, and he does have to evolve some if they are going to end up involved. I hope you enjoy it, and I hope I handled it well for you all.**

**-0-**

_Lestrade moved over towards Sally Donovan, and watched the trio walk away. "She's a lively one, isn't she?"_

_Donovan scowled. "Not for long if she keeps hanging out with him." With a disgruntled air, she headed back towards the crime scene. _

-0-

Sherlock sat at the table, slightly aloof, as he observed John and Rose banter back and forth. He supposed their by-play could be deemed affectionate or friendly. Their body language, relaxed, indicated a degree of friendship between them. Some of Rose's actions could be identified as flirting, but neither one of them betrayed any of the little details that added up to intimacy or a pursuit of it. What eluded Sherlock, however, was why this fact seemed to please him.

The consulting detective happened to be very good at facts, observation, catching tiny details and using them to form a picture, but he did not have the best of abilities at reading and understanding emotions. Behaviors he could approach from a scientist's viewpoint, but emotions were difficult. They required an empathy that he lacked and didn't care to cultivate. Only a small number of people retained enough importance for him to make the effort. John had turned out to be one of them. Rose remained an enigma to him.

His mind kept returning to her and trying to sort out and catalog the separate factors to make a complete picture, yet pieces remained missing. She was obviously an emotional creature, yet she had admirable control; when dealing with Sally Donovan, Rose had remained polite, yet had used logic to bloodlessly defeat the other woman's assertions. She was loyal—proven by her defense of John previously and, to his surprise, the way she had defended him just earlier this evening. More pieces of the puzzle—yet the picture remained incomplete and created a mental itch he could not scratch.  
"They've got the body to the morgue by now. Let's go and check it out."

Sherlock's sudden statement sliced through the teasing banter Rose and John were throwing back and forth. They exchanged a look. "Sherlock," John began, "it's getting late. We can always go first thing in the morning."

"No, now."

Sherlock's tone held firm insistence, and he gave John and Rose a cool glare. "Time is crucial in finding all the details to keep whatever trap Moriarty is trying to lay out for Ms. Tyler from snapping shut."

"You can call me Rose, you know," the blonde interjected, sounding more amused than offended or irritated. She studied Sherlock for a moment and sighed, pushing back from the table. "We might as well saddle up and head out. He'll just sulk all night unless we do."

"I do not sulk."

"Yes, you do," John quickly retorted.

"Oh, shut up, John." Irritated, Sherlock stood up and straightened out his coat, pulling on the lapels to settle it correctly. Rose rolled her eyes, and her smile grew a bit wider in amusement. Sherlock ignored it as he swept out of the building, leaving John and Rose to follow.

"I got it," Rose simply smiled at John's exasperated look. "You go make sure he doesn't take off in a cab without us."

John ran out and found Sherlock at the curb looking for a cab to flag down. "Rose will be right out."

"Fine." Sherlock remained focused on his search for a cab.

"I have to admit, I admire how she's been handling herself. Most people would have fallen apart realizing that murder scene was set for them." John stuck his hands in the pockets of his coat.

"She's a trained soldier, John, much like you. Ms. Tyler has seen her own share of incidents and refused to break. What makes you think Moriarty is going to break her?" The consulting detective's voice remained even, but something caught John's attention.

"You admire her."

"Ms. Tyler has many admirable traits and has proven to have a clever mind, even if she isn't on my intellectual level. Then again, very few people are." Leaning forward, Sherlock finally spotted a cab to flag down.

"Hold on. You sound a bit like you actually like her, as in, Sherlock Holmes actually likes a woman." John's voice held both curiosity and teasing.

"I have no idea what you are talking about, John. The cab is here. Maybe you should get Ms. Tyler, and we should go," Sherlock responded in a biting tone.

It hit John then that Rose might have actually caught the normally reclusive detective's interest. Her past remained a mystery, one she had flaunted at Sherlock to solve. She had managed to outwit Mycroft—not an easy feat—and escape Moriarty as well. Rose had held her own at the murder scene, proving her intelligence again and again. When it came to Sherlock, she hadn't been intimidated by the moody genius and had no problem calling him on his behavior. In short, Rose Tyler challenged him—something difficult for the consulting detective both to find and to resist.

"Sherlock . . ." John slowly started, but then Rose emerged outside.

"Brilliant. You got a cab. Off to the morgue now, then?"

"Yes," Both men turned towards her and answered.

Rose lifted an eyebrow at them. "Everything okay?"

Sherlock's "Perfectly alright" overlapped John's "Fine, just fine."

"Riiiiight. Okay, let's get going. I want to meet this infamous Molly of the body parts." With a grin, she nudged the men to get in and slid in after them.

As they traveled in the taxi over to the morgue, neither of the men seemed inclined to talk. Rose looked back and forth between them as they each stared out their respective windows. Recognizing the faces of people caught up in their own thoughts, she let silence rule the trip. However, when they got out, she started chatting away again—some ridiculous story involving an angry farmer and chickens running loose during an op. Rose, of course, left out the fact that there had been aliens involved, couching some of the details in vague terms. But by the time they actually reached the morgue, John had relaxed, laughing with Rose.

Having been warned that Sherlock Holmes had been brought in on the case, Molly Hooper expected him to show up fairly quickly. She had already laid the body out, taking care with collecting and removing all the evidence on it. She normally worked precisely, but when she knew the consulting detective would be coming, she made extra effort. Unfortunately, it never seemed to impress him. He simply seemed to expect it. Conversely, he didn't insult her work, as he might others.

When the doors opened and, instead of the expected solo or duo, a trio walked in, it gave her a bit of a start. Especially when one of the trio happened to be a beautiful woman who treated both John and Sherlock with casual affection. Wide-eyed, her gaze flitted between them, trying to work out the sudden change. The blonde woman spotted her, and her whole face lit up with interest and warm welcome. "You must be Molly Hooper. I've heard so much about you." She stepped forward with a wide grin. "I hope you don't mind if I don't offer to shake your hand since you are working and all."

"No, no, of course not," Molly managed. "Are you a friend of John's, then?"

"Friend, client, and consultant, I think. M'name's Rose Tyler, and it is very good to meet you."

"I'm Molly, but you already knew that." All of the sudden, she felt extremely self-conscious. This Rose happened to be beautiful, full of assurance, and easily teased both John and Sherlock. The latter seemed to accept her treatment of him. Not tolerate—Molly had seen Sherlock tolerate people before; this felt different. Thankfully, the man in question called Molly over straight away to discuss some findings, and she focused on that.

Rose didn't miss the uncertain way the brunette watched her, nor the attention the pathologist paid Sherlock. Molly had a quiet kind of beauty and, according to John, a good mind and heart and a hopeless crush on Sherlock, which everybody but Sherlock seemed aware of—typical blind bloody genius, an expert who can see everything but what happened to be right in front of him.

With a mental headshake, she moved over to the table to turn her focus to the woman laid out there. She had seen plenty of corpses in her career at Torchwood, normally the result of an alien encounter gone wrong, and even a few during her travels with the Doctor. However, looking at a woman who had been killed simply because she had crossed Moriarty unnerved her, especially due to the fact that, up close, the woman bore a slight resemblance to her own features. Guilt wrapped around her insides and threatened to weigh her down. That's when part of Molly and Sherlock's conversation penetrated her daze.

"She had strychnine in her blood?"

The pathologist looked over at Rose's question. "Yes, usually it's used in rat poison. I saw indications of potential poisoning, so I started running tests. That's not what caused her death, but it would have killed her eventually."

"It was also used in the American Old West, as they called it, to poison wolves. The use of it aligns with the theory that this is a warning." Sherlock's low voice seemed to rumble in Rose's ear.

With a deep breath, Rose stepped back, taking a moment to lock down her reactions. John cast a worried look in her direction. "Maybe this wasn't such a good idea, Rose. Why don't I take you outside?"

The blonde shook her head. "No, I'm fine. Really, I'm okay, John."

Molly bounced a confused look between John and Rose, her gaze finally landing on Sherlock's impassive face. The detached look she found there made the pathologist wonder if her initial impression might be wrong. Either way, the look on Rose's face made her reach an impulsive decision. "How about I take Rose to go get some coffee while you look over the results?"

The three sets of eyes focused on her made Molly suddenly feel uncertain. "That is, if you want to."

Rose gave Molly a warm smile. "I think that is a great idea. That way himself can brood all he wants over this, and I don't have to put up with it." When John opened his mouth to protest, she shook her head. "I'll be fine. He wants to scare me. Wouldn't be half as much fun for him if he tried something now."

Sherlock's gaze turned sharp at Rose's statement, and he inclined his head to the smallest degree. "Most likely, but still it would be good not to place more temptation in his path."

"Noted."

Rose gave him a sloppy salute, which he rolled his eyes at. "Just go," he said in a bored tone. "Black, two sugars," he called after the retreating backs of the women.

"Get your own," Rose playfully bantered back, to John's amusement.

Molly gave Rose a slightly wide-eyed look as they walked. "Why were they so concerned about you?"

"Well, Molly . . . Wait, is it alright if I call you Molly?" At the pathologist's tentative nod, Rose smiled. "Brilliant, thanks! I've heard so much about you already. I'm happy to finally meet you."

"They told you about me?" Incredibly, Molly's astonishment actually grew at Rose's statement.

"Of course. Body parts in the refrigerator do tend to require a bit of explanation and stories, though more from John than Sherlock, but you know how he is. Hard to get him to say anything that's not relevant to what he's trying to investigate at the moment." Rose rolled her eyes. "The man gets so focused, he completely forgets the fact people are not machines."

On more familiar ground, Molly relaxed, a small smile coming to her face. "He does tend to do that. Or treat them like lab equipment, there to give him answers. Not with John, though—not anymore. He's important to Sherlock."

"Yeah, he is." Rose beamed a smile. "Nice guy, John is. He befriended me when I first came to the city. Saw me sitting alone on a park bench, and I suppose I looked a bit lost 'cause he stopped to see if I was okay—insisted I go join him at the pub. And before I knew it, I had made a new friend."

"Oh. That sounds like John. So you moved to London all by yourself?" She couldn't help but to notice the black band on Rose's left hand.

"Yeah, I lost the people I cared about and needed a bit of a change." By then they had reached the cafeteria, empty at this point of the night. Rose busied herself with fixing a cup of coffee.

"Oh, I'm sorry. That must have been tough. I can understand needing a fresh start. So you came to London?" Molly fixed her own cup as they drifted over to pay.

"Yeah, a friend of mine helped me see I needed to do something for me, to maybe try to live again, 'cause I really wasn't at the time. I'm glad he did. Anyways, I ended up here alone, and John crossed my path. My first friend here. I'm really glad I met him." The pair settled at a table and sipped their coffee.

"I've really been looking forward to meeting you. It's been a while since I had a good girlfriend." Rose gave Molly a warm smile.

"Oh, well . . . um, that is . . ." slightly flustered, Molly wasn't sure how to respond.

"Blimey, not like that," Rose laughed, the warm and welcoming sound of it relaxing Molly. "I just want a good mate. Like John. But let's face it, he's not a woman, and there is something to be said for having a good girlfriend, right?"

Molly studied Rose's face. The blonde seemed to be like a friendly whirlwind. The pathologist had been the one to make the invitation, but the other woman had been the one to almost carry her off. It was difficult for her to tell if the other woman had done it for the distraction or if Rose genuinely wanted to get to know her. She didn't give off any kind of threatening vibe. Instead, the other woman seemed warm and friendly. She was the kind of person who might be surrounded by friends all the time, whereas Molly had always been alone—off in her own little corner, wishing she could be that way. The warmth and the kindness in Rose's eyes finally spurred her to answer, "Yes, I think you are right."

Fidgeting with her cup, she looked up to meet Rose's gaze. The blonde didn't press her to talk, instead letting the other woman take her time. "You didn't answer my question, though—before, about why they would be so concerned about you."

"Picked up on that, did you?" Rose dipped her head and pushed her chair closer to the table. "Well, I happen to have caught the interest of someone that doesn't play nice and didn't like it when I said no to him. So I went to John and Sherlock for help. I mean, when your good friend's flatmate is Sherlock Holmes, where else would you go?"

"So someone dangerous is after you? Does Detective Lestrade know that?" Wide-eyed again, Molly watched Rose.

"Well, he probably does now. Not sure what Sherlock told him. The fact is, the person after me would have no problem taking out a couple of police officers to get to me, so police protection wouldn't do any good. That is, if I would even put up with it in the first place. The reason John and Sherlock know about it: I basically had to tell them. So, they are hovering a bit at the moment." Rose rolled her eyes.

"Sherlock hovers?" Molly's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"Not like a normal bloke would, but in his own way. He got a bit irritated with me for leaving the building without telling anyone earlier today." Rose gestured with her cup. "But I didn't come here to talk about him. I came here to drink coffee, have a chat with you, and hopefully make a friend."

After she studied Rose, Molly slowly nodded, a smile spreading across her face. "I think I'd like that."

Later that night—much later—Sherlock picked up his violin to play. He happened to be the only one awake at the moment. John had gone to bed, and due to the lateness of the hour, presumably so had Rose in her flat, and Mrs. Hudson in hers. John had long since learned to tune out his playing, and the other residents of the building had enough distance and insulation between him and them. They would not be disturbed. Oddly, the building had just been too quiet for him to concentrate. Normally, quiet would be perfect for him to retreat into his mind palace to sort things out. This time, however, he couldn't—the quiet unsettled him instead. So, wearing merely shirtsleeves and trousers, he padded barefoot over to pick up the instrument.

He lifted the bow to the strings and gently laid it down across them. Letting his mind go blank, his arm and fingers started to move, drawing forth a sobbing melody from the instrument. It twisted and turned, sped up in one place, and lingered in another. If he were a fanciful man, he might say that the inner part of him—the one shut away, comprised of his emotions—happened to be the one playing. This emotional creature used Sherlock's arms like a puppeteer pulling strings, but only to express that which might be locked away.

Yet that wasn't Sherlock Holmes; he was not one to believe in flights of fancy. He disdained sentiment, considering it the reason that most of the people around him and their interests were boring. Sentiment made reasonable men do unreasonable things in the name of emotion—all of which definitely did not happen to the consulting detective. But in the here and now, he let his subconscious choose the notes, to bring forth the music that would help him sort his thoughts, a melody to remove obstacles to clear thinking and allow him to focus.

The winding melody came to an abrupt stop at the sensation of his phone going off in his pocket, startling him. Normally the phone's alert would be a non-issue, something to ignore. But this time it had been changed from the normal vibration setting he preferred to a ring tone comprised of the first lines of the Beatles's hit "Help." Putting down his violin, Sherlock fished out the offending item and unlocked the screen.

Rose is having a severe nightmare. I can't wake her up. It's obvious from the phone positions and hour that John is in all probability asleep, and you are most likely still awake. I can unlock the door for you. Please come.  
IDRIS

For a heartbeat, Sherlock stayed rooted to the floor, staring at the screen. The AI's logic happened to be sound. Still, the question of "why him?" rang in Sherlock's thoughts. Then his mind supplemented the image of Rose twisted in the throes of a bad dream, and his feet started to move. Rushing out the door and down the stairs, he found Rose's door unlocked for him, like the text had said. Having been in the flat before, he immediately made his way to the bedroom and opened the door.

Immediately, he could see the AI had been correct in its deductions of Rose's predicament. The woman rolled fitfully on the bed and issued sounds of distress. She was clearly not awake, and whatever she was currently dreaming of must be unpleasant. Reaching for her shoulder, he grasped it and gently shook it. "Rose. Rose, wake up."

In hindsight, he should have been prepared for what happened next. Sherlock knew she had military-type training, as well as a potential history of involvement in some sort of conflict, and from her behaviors, he could also deduce that she had a form of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder—all of which meant that one moment he stood shaking her shoulder, and the next he had been yanked down and pinned under the blonde, her forearm across his throat. He blamed himself for the maneuver; he should not have been distracted by her state of undress. No, he corrected himself mentally; he should not have been distracted by her state of distress. The fact she seemed to be clad only in a sleep shirt and a tiny pair of shorts had no bearing on his actions. At all.

"Calmly, Ms. Tyler. It was just a night terror. Your AI summoned me to help dispel it." Sherlock used a soothing tone and her formal name, reasoning it would focus her attention. It seemed to work, because she immediately jerked back, a look of horror on her face.

"Oh God, Sherlock, m'sorry."

"Quite alright. Most individuals are unaware of their reactions when emerging from sleep abruptly." He pulled himself up to a seated position, before awkwardly asking, "Are you alright?"

"I'm always alright." Rose answered automatically, which triggered a watery laugh from her. It actually sounded more like a sob. "Sorry, I just, I don't normally . . ." She tried to get herself under control.

Not quite sure what would be expected of him, Sherlock reached over and stiffly patted her arm. Looking up at him, eyes bright, Rose's breath hitched. "Sherlock, I'm really, really, sorry for this, but can I, I don't mean to . . ."

Not entirely sure what prompted him, he simply responded, "It's alright."

The next thing he knew, Rose had scooted over to him and wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his shoulder. Now the consulting detective had no idea at all what to do. He settled for awkwardly bringing his arms around her and patting her back. Sherlock did not happen to be in the habit of consoling anyone, ever. Still, it would seem that his movement helped, because her shaking slowed and stopped.

Eventually she pulled away, wiping her eyes with the heel of her hand. "Thanks."

Not quite sure of what would be expected of him, he nodded mechanically and let her pull away, dropping his arms down. Something prodded at him again, and he found himself asking, "Are you alright? Did you . . . wish to discuss it?"

Rose pulled back further, shooting him an incredulous look.

"Yes, I rather surprised myself with that. You see, I don't normally handle the emotional ones, I leave that to John."

"Now that sounds more like something I'd expect." Her bright smile couldn't quite hide away the telltale signs of an individual under stress.

"Unsurprising that today's events may have triggered malicious dreams for you," Sherlock observed quietly.

"Yeah," Rose flopped back down on the bed. "A while back, there was danger. Really bad. And I had to find the one person that could fix it. I had to travel a lot—searching really—but he was the only one that could." Her hand drifted up to her neck, and in the darkness Sherlock saw her toy with the necklace that lay around it. The faint light in the bedroom outlined a pair of rings, along with a simple yale key.

"Your late husband," he commented.

"Yeah."

Unsurprised by the fact that he made that deduction, Rose continued, "Some of the places I had to travel through weren't so nice, an' I did a lot of it alone."

He had turned a little bit to watch her, but now Sherlock laid back down, flat on his back, staring at the ceiling with her. "I would suspect traumatic as well, due to the degree of distress I found you in." Somehow the darkness made it a little bit easier for him to relax and not question why he stayed.

Rose stared up blankly for a long time, before turning over towards him. "Sherlock, I know it's a lot to ask, but . . ."

Drawing his own conclusions, he responded, "You wish me to stay."

"I don't . . . I don't want to be alone right now. I need to sleep and normally if I try to go back to sleep after a night mare, I . . . I dream about the accident." He could feel her tense up next to him.

Sherlock Holmes was not a man prone to sentiment or sentimental responses. He did not have emotions, as he frequently told people, nor did he relate to them well. For him to stay would be an aberration, a potentially distasteful surrender to some form of sentiment. Yet a part of him could not ignore her request or the distress she seemed to be in. So instead of simply getting up and walking away, he stayed still, and answered her, "I will stay."

"Thank you," Rose said quietly. She curled up towards him, and some instinct prodded him to lift his arm up. She scooted under it and rested her head on his shoulder. Slowly, he let it rest against her back, still staring up at the ceiling.

Normally, he would be massively bored by this situation and be itching for something to do. Sherlock Holmes did not sit still and comfort people. He certainly did not do so after the individual had bad dreams. He definitely did not hold them while they fell asleep. Yet right now, as Rose Tyler drifted back off to sleep, her head on his shoulder, he had no inclination to leave. Her warm weight somehow relaxed him further, as did her scent as he breathed it in. Sandalwood and vanilla, and something _Rose_ infiltrated his senses as he laid there. Telling himself he would just rest for a bit until she had reached peaceful slumber, he closed his eyes and drifted into a sleep of his own.


	15. Chapter 15 - Breakfast

**Breakfast the morning after Rose's nightmare, a very confused John joins them.**

**I know, I know, its been forever. I'm sorry, I am so sorry. I had vacation, and a bit of a badly needed mental break. Now I'm raring to go, and my lovely beta and grammar goddess Veritascara keeps me going *hugs* I will keep going on this fic, because I love these two as much as I hope you guys do. **

**-0-**

_Sherlock Holmes was not a man prone to sentiment or sentimental responses. He did not have emotions, as he frequently told people, nor did he relate to them well. For him to stay would be an aberration, a potentially distasteful surrender to some form of sentiment. Yet a part of him could not ignore her request or the distress she seemed to be in. So instead of simply getting up and walking away, he stayed still, and answered her, "I will stay."_

_"Thank you," Rose said quietly. She curled up towards him, and some instinct prodded him to lift his arm up. She scooted under it and rested her head on his shoulder. Slowly, he let it rest against her back, still staring up at the ceiling._

_Normally, he would be massively bored by this situation and be itching for something to do. Sherlock Holmes did not sit still and comfort people. He certainly did not do so after the individual had bad dreams. He definitely did not hold them while they fell asleep. Yet right now, as Rose Tyler drifted back off to sleep, her head on his shoulder, he had no inclination to leave. Her warm weight somehow relaxed him further, as did her scent as he breathed it in. Sandalwood and vanilla and something Rose infiltrated his senses as he laid there. Telling himself he would just rest for a bit until she had reached peaceful slumber, he closed his eyes and drifted into a sleep of his own. _

-0-

The next morning John moved about the flat, wondering where Sherlock had gotten to. His coat and scarf still hung on the coat rack, and while it he could have left without them, the likelihood remained low. Additionally, if the possibility existed for him to want to leave the flat, Sherlock would often rouse John to come with him. Rarely did he consider the physician's need for sleep in order to function properly. The question itched at him mildly, but not urgently, as he started walking around.

Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he tapped out a quick text to Rose. She seemed to be an early riser, so he often checked to see if she wanted to share breakfast in the morning. Sure enough, it didn't take long for his phone to vibrate with a reply.

Already making some, come on down and join us.  
Rose

Without much thought to it, he pocketed his mobile and headed down the stairs. Occasionally, Mrs. Hudson had been known to join Rose for breakfast, so seeing "us" attached to the text didn't raise any suspicions. Reaching the door to Rose's flat, he opened it and let himself inside. He had gone less than a meter before he stopped, eyes widening. Rose's voice coming from the kitchen area, completely expected; the low rumble of Sherlock's answering her, unexpected. His mouth dropped open slightly as his brain processed this fact. Shutting it with a click, he made his way to the kitchen.

As he entered, he took in a scene that he quite frankly didn't know what to make of. Rose's hair still had dampness to it as she wandered in slippers around the kitchen. Sherlock had taken up one of the kitchen chairs, and for all purposes looked like he had claimed that spot. He had a relaxed air that John rarely saw him with outside of their flat, sitting back in his seat, one hand around the cup of coffee in front of him, the other rested on his leg. His chair had been tilted towards Rose, and he faced her, bearing every evidence of paying attention to her activities. Rose, for her part, didn't seem any different, but when he caught sight of her face, she looked well rested. Some mornings she seemed to have barely slept at all.

Did they… John's brain halted the thought before it could finish, outright rejecting a possibility he didn't want to consider, instead, tucking it into the back of his brain to percolate for later. He hadn't quite made up his mind regarding what to think about this when Rose turned to see him there. Her smile and greeting brought an answering grin to his face.

"John, there you are! I have coffee and tea going. Help yourself, and take a seat. I'm making pancakes, if you like."

The little smile stayed on his face as he moved over to help himself to some coffee. "Don't mind if I do. I see Sherlock beat me down here."

His head turned towards the other man, who returned his look impassively. "Yes, Rose was kind enough to offer me breakfast."

Most of the time, when Sherlock's thoughts were deliberate, he referred to Rose as Ms. Tyler still. He only referred to her as Rose when he happened to be very relaxed or the aforementioned insisted on it. John's steps paused at the informal use, before continuing to the table to sit. "So I see."

At that, Sherlock rolled his eyes, his tone bored. "Oh, do relax, John. I wasn't down here interrogating her."

John's eyebrows rose. "If you say so."

Rose laughed, setting the first plate down in front of Sherlock, her hand pressed lightly on his shoulder. "Eat them. Don't stare at them. Everyone needs petrol in the tank from time to time, Sherlock, even super geniuses." To John's astonishment, while the other man did roll his eyes, he also picked up the syrup and poured some on the pancakes before digging in without a word.

Rose moved over to lightly touch John's shoulder next. "He's been very well behaved; don't worry. Besides, I can give as good as I get if I want to."

John shifted his attention to Rose then, really looking at her. A faint line of worry about both of them had started to thread through his processing of the situation. He had seen Sherlock get wrapped up in a woman figuratively once before, and when things went badly, Sherlock didn't handle it well—not that the detective had shown any signs of being that absorbed by Rose. Yet this happened to be the most comfortable he'd seen Sherlock with anyone save himself or Mrs. Hudson, so he couldn't make heads or tails of whether he really should worry about this or not. Finally, he decided to tell his brain to just shove it for now and enjoy the pancakes that Rose had just set in front of him—far too early to really be worried about this, after all. Instead, he focused on the far more delightful prospect of Rose's pancakes.

"I suppose you are right." The small smile kept his lips curved upwards a fraction before he dug into the pancakes. "Can I say I am really glad you moved into the building? And I'm not just saying this because you are feeding me pancakes."

Rose laughed and grabbed her own plate, sitting down with them with her habitual cup of tea. "Though I'm sure you are not complaining about me making them. I have to say, circumstances being what they are, I am glad I am here for the company. It feels nice to feel like I might belong somewhere again."

When breakfast ended, John excused himself to head upstairs, giving the pair one last look. Sherlock had a settled, focused expression that he knew meant very little would get the detective to move. At least, not before he had resolved whatever had engaged his mind. Rose, for her part, simply moved around the kitchen, cleaning up around him and ignoring his rather obvious brooding. She did send a parting shot at John, and by extension Sherlock, who still sat in his seat: "Don't expect me to clean up after you all the time." She grinned cheerfully.

"Tell you what, dinner's on me tonight, especially since I'm highly doubtful we want to trust Sherlock with any meal plans." John paused at the doorway as he replied.

Sherlock ignored the comment, while Rose nodded. "Fine by me, and thanks, John. Now shoo before you are late. I'm sure Mr. I'm-a-genius-so-I-must-brood over here can make sure I don't wander off. Though I really think that he's not going to try and pull anything for a while, so you can probably stop accompanying me everywhere."

"No."

The same answer came from both men, and Rose lifted her hands up in surrender. "Fine. Have it your way."

John and Sherlock exchanged a look, the detective giving the doctor a nod before John left with a touch of reluctance—a small tacit agreement between them not to let Rose out of their sight. The events of the other day, while they may not show it, happened to upset them both on varying levels. For John, Rose's friendship had started to evolve into something closer to a sibling-like relationship, while Sherlock refused, even to himself, to identify his relationship to her as anything more than his need to solve the puzzle that Rose Tyler presented. That, and she happened to be his avenue to potentially catching Moriarty.

Yesterday had refreshed in both men's minds the very real danger and threat Rose lived under. Unless Moriarty tired of the game he played, a very unlikely occurrence, she would remain a target, and thus at risk. As John moved up the stairs, that thought trickled in the back of his mind, providing a rationale as to why Sherlock would have been down there so early. It didn't quite explain why the younger man happened to be barefoot, but his mind just wouldn't delve into other possibilities.

As for Sherlock, he had been in turns disoriented, relieved, and oddly disappointed when he woke in the morning to find the sheets next to him cool to the touch. He rarely slept long, but it seemed that Rose had woken before he did. When he entered the kitchen, he could deduce from the faint dampness of her hair and the slightly stronger smell of her shampoo and body wash clinging to her, that she had already showered. She had shot him a sunny smile and proceeded to set a cup of coffee in front of him, prepared just the way he liked. His initial stiffness wore off as she started chatting at him and eventually dissipated completely as she managed to put him at ease. Her ability to do so fascinated him. "You don't even realize you are doing it, do you?"

Rose glanced over at his question, her eyebrows lifted. "Doing what?"

Sherlock collected his thoughts, his eyes level with hers, and his face impassive as he did so. "It would appear, Rose Tyler, that you have an uncommon ability for dealing with people." The detective's voice stayed thoughtful and contained almost maddening levels of calm. "I've seen you do it before to people. It doesn't take much for you to get them to relax and do as you wish." Now a trace of humor snuck in, a ghost over his features and tones. "Except for, of course, when you have no intention of treating them nicely. That is when you excel at aggravating them. You appear to be able to do this on an instinctual level, rather than conscious effort."

Amused, Rose walked across the kitchen. Finished cleaning up, she sat at the table across from him. "I think that's a compliment."

"Indeed," Sherlock replied evenly. "It will be quite the asset."

Rose lifted an eyebrow, blowing on her tea to cool it before taking a sip. "What, you plan on taking me on your investigations?"

His voice stayed completely mild and his expression unchanging. "I need to keep an eye on you, anyways. You are, after all, bait for Moriarty's trap. You may as well be useful while you are along."

She swirled her cup of tea absently as she considered him. "You do realize that Moriarty could be trying to use that to get to you."

"Of course he's trying to get to me." Sherlock's eyes rolled. "You are both the obvious and separate game. That doesn't mean he can't and won't try to use that fact to get to me, as well."

With a curve to her lips, Rose set the teacup back down. "You are counting on that, aren't you?"

"I don't count on anything." His tone became clipped. "I make the most logical move based on what I can deduce. I do not depend on the actions of others."

"Yes, you do." Amused now, Rose sat back to watch his reaction.

Sherlock didn't disappoint. His eyes and tone turned a bit frosty. "I beg your pardon?"

An easy smile graced Rose's face. "You count on Mrs. Hudson to be there, to make your tea, to pick up after you, just a little, complaining all the time. You count on John to come along with you on whatever impulsive mood has hit you for whatever investigation you currently fancy. Then there is your brother, whom you have some sort of odd competition going with, who additionally looks out for you and sends puzzles your way. I'd say there, you acutely count on each other."

With a slight tilt of the head, she regarded him. "There are not many people or things that you count on, but there are some, Sherlock. No one, not even you, wants to be alone and totally isolated from everything and everyone."

Sherlock's expression did not as much as flicker. Instead, it stayed a calm mask that seemed fixed into place. At times, Rose almost expected to hear a creak if his features moved from their set serious positions. She had seen that he could change it fluidly in rare moments of humor, but the most likely expressions to cross his countenance would be disdain, boredom, and the occasional glimmer of interest and excitement. That did not mean that his agile mind didn't grasp what she had said, working over the implications.

Rose Tyler had spoken no less than the truth about his relationship with every single one of those individuals, which both intrigued and disturbed him. His, dependence, no, reliance, on a few chosen individuals—if that is what it was—inched towards the arena of sentiment, which he abhorred. It also gave him points of vulnerability, areas that others could use against him. And what remained the final and most important part of this whole conversation: the fact that this woman in front of him could grasp all that. She saw relationships the way he saw the cause and effect of individual pieces of information and actions and facts. Her skill complimented his own, much the same way John's did.

Rose waited out his silence, giving him the time and space to work things out in his own mind. She drained her tea and finished up around the kitchen, leaving him seated there, staring off into space while he thought. She had seen this process a time or two, when he needed to work things out in his mind, and respected it.

Thinking on the night before, a small frown tugged her lips down as she considered the implications that IDRIS summoned Sherlock to help her. The AI had been programmed to help her be happy, so that had been its solution. Sherlock had woken her from the nightmares, had inexplicably offered company and comfort. Rose could tell that it hadn't been an easy offer for him, yet he had made it. He had stayed, and when she woke, he still had been there. Granted, if he had woken first, that might have been different. But instead she had and slipped out of the bed as to not make things more difficult on him.

Coffee and breakfast seemed only fair to offer after he had helped her. Everything about him indicated to her that what had transpired last night edged into uncharacteristic behavior for him. So why had he done it? Not that she wanted to complain about it—far from it. That had been the best night's sleep she had without drugs to force her to sleep since before the accident. With the drugs, she had always been left feeling muzzy the next day, which is why she rarely indulged in them, preferring a clear head.

She still didn't have any answers when he blinked and looked up at her, far sooner than Rose expected. A sly ghost of a smile sat lightly across his features. "Well, an interesting observation. Just make sure you keep from any delusions when evaluating people during an investigation and we shall do just fine."

His emphasis on the word delusions didn't escape her and a small smile tugged on the corners of her lips. "Oh, of course not. After all, it's the facts that are the most important to solving your cases. I'll be sure to keep my own more colorful thoughts that don't have any bearing on the case to myself."

"Precisely." Sherlock started to get up from the table and gave her an expectant look when she stayed where she was.

"Oh, just give me a few more minutes, and I'll join you upstairs. I need to finish getting ready for the day, and I don't need your help with that." She gave him a playful look as her eyebrows lifted. "And I very much doubt you need my help with yours."

"Of course not," his slightly affronted voice shot back, and Rose bit her lip to hide her smile as he got up from the table. She could almost see him draw his dignity around himself like a cloak. If he had his coat on, he would have been tugging his collar up and pulling it into place. "Don't dawdle, I am sure we will have other more important things to concern ourselves with than your makeup."

Rose had a very light hand with makeup these days, which she knew couldn't have escaped his notice. "Of course. I won't be long."

"See that you don't." He stalked out of her apartment, his air of cool disinterest in place, bare feet and shirtsleeves notwithstanding. Laughter bubbled up inside Rose, her eyes sparkling. Despite the seriousness of the threat she faced, she felt really alive again.

Sometimes a really good night's sleep made you see the world with brand new eyes, she speculated. The blue accents in her flat shone out at her, as did the warm glow of the wood and the touches of yellow. Giving the counter-top one last swipe with the forest green dishcloth, she draped it over the sink. Moving through her hallway, the reds and purples of the picture of the nebula stood out against the darkness of the space it bloomed from. The film of gray that had covered everything continued slowly cracking and lightening.


	16. Chapter 16 - Who Are You

**Sherlock asks Rose directly, and she tells him a story.**

**Finally updated! Yes I am so sorry I've been busy with things and finally got this done and updated. Good thing I have my wonderful and lovely veritascara the grammar goddess as a beta to remind me to write!**

**-0-**

"Who are you, Rose Tyler?"

The question had been asked in a level tone. As Rose looked up, she found her gaze captured by the man perched across from her. His irises shaded from a golden color in the center to blue on the outer rim and held all sorts of secrets—such intelligence, on occasion boredom, as well as curiosity and fascination. They rarely missed any details, noting each tiny piece of information for the incredible reasoning and deducting ability of this particular man's brain. His intelligence bordered on inhuman, yet he most decidedly was a member of the human race.

Rose lowered the book she had been reading as she really looked at Sherlock Holmes. Slowly, he had managed to claim a spot in her flat and make that particular area his. It remained difficult to put a finger on both when the flat had become home and when this man had made a small corner of it his own, with little things, like books he had been reading stacked around it, clutter from tea or experiments migrating into that corner. Somehow, inevitably, as time passed, that space came to belong to him.

Part of it was due to the fact that neither John nor Sherlock had wanted to leave her alone for long stretches of time. Despite that the flat happened to be in their building, just down the stairs, both still worried about her. Moriarty's threat hung over them, not unlike a raven waiting for the right moment to snatch a choice treat away from an unwatched picnic. The threat had been driven home by the murder, and as time ticked by, the odds increased that Moriarty would act. While with other people it might decrease; with a possessive madman, it did not. When things or people became obsessions, either he had to have them or destroy them, so that no one else could. This is the line that wavered around Rose's continued existence. Moriarty had made his terms clear: Work for him, or he would kill her.

There remained another reason that Sherlock had made a corner of her apartment his. Admit it or not, he had gotten used to having a few people around, and while John worked, he gravitated to the blonde. "Genius loves an audience," so the old adage went, and in his case it certainly applied. Genius needed someone to show off for, to affirm how much more clever it was compared to others. It required an audience, but it didn't care whether the audience consisted of one person or of nations, so long as it got the recognition it craved. This tiny bit of inconsequential ego feeding had the power to keep a brilliant mind from into morphing into a criminal element, forced to take the validation it needed from other sources.

Sherlock wanted to show off, to prove how his intellect surpassed anyone else's. The awe that appeared on people's faces when he solved a puzzle in moments remained one of the reasons he occasionally heard the simple things out. He could protest it as a waste of his time but still get the thrill from the look on the simpletons' faces. His deductive reasoning remained out of their grasp and rather god-like to them, and he fed on that.

Yet, for all his abilities, Rose Tyler had remained a puzzle. He could easily deduce from her accent, mannerisms, and other behaviors that she had indeed been raised in East London from a young age. Under stress, people often reverted to their first learned patterns of behavior. Rose's speech always slipped back the norm for that geographic area. Granted, she could be an extremely skilled agent, but the tiny details that remained difficult to counterfeit flourished under stress. The difficulty with accepting that lay in the fact there had not been any kind of documentation of her life prior to the first picture taken and sent to his phone. On one hand, a government, or a highly skilled private citizen, could potentially erase someone's life, but the signs would still be there if you dug deep enough—school photos, records, and in this day and age, even an accidental public picture captured for a newspaper, magazine, or television. There had been documentation inserted and made to look like it always existed, but that had been the handicraft of his brother. Not even under a pseudonym could he find a legitimate trace of her. When he momentarily set aside the deduction of where she had grown up, he still couldn't find any information.

In addition, one couldn't ignore the technology she had access to. Often scientific discoveries are built on previous work. In a way, it could be called the evolution of what had gone on before. Once in a while, a completely new breakthrough is made—a singular breakthrough in one area. Granted, there are exceptions, but most of an individual's groundbreaking work comes from a single field. Rose had many different types of breakthroughs and promised she had many more to come. The technology didn't exist anywhere to create and support an AI system like the one she had, let alone in a device as small as a laptop. Even if her husband had been a genius, the variety and advanced nature of the work indicated creations from many minds, not just one. If a group made up of geniuses existed, and his brother didn't know about it, he'd be very surprised. No doubt Mycroft had been doing his own digging, at the same time trying to be discreet about it as to not tip her off and as consequence risk losing access to what Ms. Tyler could provide. A solitary fact remained: if the Mycroft brothers could not find it, it did not exist. It may take them time, but they always found what they looked for.

So Sherlock Holmes had been left with a choice. He could continue his search and let the burning question eat away at him, or he could swallow his pride and point-blank ask. It grated on him because to ask would be as good as an admission of failure. Unfortunately, short of leaving London, which he would not do with the threat that existed, he lacked any remaining avenues to uncover the truth. When he found himself looking at Rose, his wounded pride drained away, only the desire to know more left burning and undiminished in its place. So, in a rare case, he tacitly admitted defeat (if only to himself) and asked her.

Rose looked at Sherlock, taking in the intensity of his gaze. Having spent so much time with the consulting detective, she knew what this kind of question must cost him. Sherlock Holmes did not hold patience in vast quantities, but what he lacked in patience, he more than made up for in pride. That same pride demanded that he find out answers for himself to prove his intellectual superiority. To outright ask someone for the solution to a puzzle meant the answer meant more to him then the satisfaction of displaying his own intellectual prowess. Sherlock lived not for the solution, but for the process of solving the puzzle.

Inserting a bookmark to hold her place, she set her reading material to the side. Rose's mind raced, trying to decide what would be the best approach. Sherlock's logical mind would outright reject it if she flat out told him. Instead, she needed an oblique approach that his rather brilliant mind could work over, attempt to poke holes into, before being able to accept it. With that in mind, she carefully framed her response. "Sherlock, one hundred years ago they would have called travel to the moon impossible—the stuff of science fiction or the tales of madmen, correct?"

Sherlock's expression contracted, as he took in the unexpected question. He couldn't see how that would relate to their current conversation, yet he found himself answering.

"Quite correct."

The blonde relaxed a little as he answered her without blowing up or getting annoyed. "In fact, many stories about technology, people once believed to be utter fantasy—impossible."

He couldn't be sure what Rose intended, but instead of an outburst of frustration, he found himself willing to wait. "Again, correct."

"Then it is reasonable to say there is a chance, however small, that the stories of today might be the truth of a tomorrow that hasn't come yet," Rose patiently stated, searching his face.

That gave Sherlock something to turn over in his head. Could stories of today be the seeds of truth for the future? Looking at the pattern of books that preceded actual discoveries, his mind worked over the facts. "One could say that; however, there remain some that are irrevocably wrong."

"Yes, but the ideas of today can create or reflect the possibilities of tomorrow," Rose replied, watching him carefully.

Sherlock frowned, a faint line of frustration appeared between his eyebrows. Obviously, Rose was attempting to lay the groundwork for something. However, the collation between stories becoming fact gave him the impression that whatever she would impart to him eluded his ability to extract it from what he had been given so far. Attempting to keep a tight hold on his patience, he inclined his head. "That is a possible deduction from your line of reasoning."

Rose studied his face a moment more. She supposed the begrudging answer contained the best she could expect from this man of logical reasoning. Yet presenting it this way seemed the best choice out of a limited range of options. Making up a story would not work; baldly stating the truth wouldn't either. This way she could present it and let him reason things out. "In that light, I have a story to tell you."

Sherlock settled in his chair, elbows braced on the armrests and his hands folded together. He gave her a small nod as indication to start.

"There once lived this nineteen-year-old shop girl. She lived on the estates with her mum. Her father had passed away when she had been just a baby. Nothing extraordinary about her really—she didn't even have her A-levels. Instead, she had a fairly normal life—beans on toast, watching the telly, and just living. Well, really more like existing, because she didn't know any better."

Sherlock's gaze stayed fastened on her face as she continued, never wavering.

"Then one day, it all changed. She met a man, the most remarkable man, with a remarkable story of his own. He also had an amazing talent for getting into danger. He saved her, and then she saved him. He invited her to come with him, to travel to places she could never have imagined going. Now, normally, even with all the life saving going on, you'd think an offer like that would be a bit daft . . . to just go off with some stranger. However, there was much more to this man than could be seen at first glance. He came from a distant planet and traveled across all of time and space in a magic blue box that was bigger on the inside. So when he asked a second time, she left her Mum and her ordinary life behind and traveled the stars with him."

Rose paused, yet Sherlock didn't interrupt. He didn't scoff or question. The dark-haired man merely sat and watched her. Taking encouragement from that, Rose took a breath and started the next part of her story. "They went on many amazing adventures, met important people, saved alien races, and traveled all across time and space together. It was simply fantastic." A faint smile curved the blonde's lips on the last word.

"She thought it would never end, but one day everything changed. You see, there was a crack in the universe, and the wrong people were mucking about with it and making things worse. The Doctor—that's the alien's name by the way—together, he and the girl tried to stop it. He wanted to keep the bad things from coming through and destroying everything. They won in the end, but it came at a price. The girl fell through the crack and was caught just in time to save her life. Not by the Doctor, though, but by a parallel version of her father from a parallel universe. The walls closed and the cracks sealed and she was stuck on the other side—trapped away from her Doctor. There was no way back, not without destroying two universes. As much as the girl loved him and wanted to be with him, neither he nor she would really be that irresponsible. He had taught her better."

Her eyes focused past Sherlock, memories of that horrible day flickering through her mind. The fear she felt, the grief, and finally the struggle to pick up the pieces, when everything around her seemed to be falling apart. "So she started a new life there, best she could, but she never forgot and never stopped wishing she had a way back, a way home. She couldn't travel to distant stars, but she could work for an organization that helped lost travelers and defended the earth. So when, a couple of years later, darkness started to spread across the sky, and the stars started to disappear, she knew who could help them. So the young woman began a project, and she found that the walls between the universes were breaking down. She could, if she was clever enough, build a machine that would help her travel and find the Doctor, so they, once again, could fix what was wrong. And she did it because she loved him and wanted to be with him again."

Eyes still full of memories, she focused slightly on the still form of Sherlock. He seemed to be carefully taking in every word she said, so she had better make each one count. "It wasn't that simple, of course. She had to search for a long time to find him. The first time she did, it wasn't right, and she had to fix that. Finally, finally, though, she found him again—just in time to face an old enemy bent on destroying all of reality. Still, with their friends, in the end the Doctor saved the day, but at a cost."

The room held utter silence except for Rose's voice. Quiet reigned, smothering any noises from the outside world, holding the pair as in a bubble while Rose continued to tell her tale.

"The walls would be closing soon, so the Doctor started taking his friends home. Some of Rose's family that belonged now in the parallel world had come with her and needed to be taken back to that place. Plus, there was the matter of the cost of defeating the Doctor's old enemies. During the fight, a half-human clone of the Doctor had been created. He had all of the Doctor's memories, his same thoughts, and yes, the same love for the former shop girl. So when the Doctor dropped off the young woman's family, he left her and the half-human version of himself in that parallel world. He did it to give them a life together, with her family. He hoped to give her the best, a version of himself that loved her, her family, and the amazing life she had built for herself there. In the end, he did it because he wanted her to be happy, and this was the best way he knew how to give her that."

Rose's head tilted down at that point, and she swallowed. Her Doctor had explained all that. It hadn't been so cut and dried, of course; there had been rough patches, adjustments both had to make, but they had been happy together.

"That's not the end of the story." Sherlock's voice came as a low rumble, causing her to lift her head.

"No, it isn't," Rose agreed, picking her head up again, her expression serene. It hurt, what had happened, but telling it as a story made it easier to get out. "They had to work on it, but they started building a new life together. Then something terrible happened, and the young woman lost it all. She lost her family and her half-human Doctor and was left with the empty shell of the life she had once loved."

Rose's voice stayed even, though she did pause. Taking another calm breath, she continued, "Just when she found herself drowning in grief, she found her Doctor had left her a gift. He hadn't known, of course, that she would lose all of them. However, he did know they both favored a dangerous lifestyle, and there were odds that he could die, or she could. So, just in case he was the one to die, he found a way to leave her resources, so if she wanted to leave and go elsewhere, she could. The woman could even try to find the original Doctor again if she wanted to, though the odds of that were rather low. In the end, to escape from her grief, to find a new adventure, she took the tools he had prepared for her and left."

Now Rose's lips curved upwards, a slight smile softening the blank mask her face had frozen into. "She took a chance on a new adventure."

Rose ceased talking and silence descended again, smothering the room under its weight. This was the point that she had half-expected him to either declare her insane, or get angry. Sherlock did neither. Instead, he simply sat there, retreating into the depths of his mind palace as he sorted through the information he had been given.

Obviously, she wanted to present this story as the truth, evidenced by the groundwork of reasoning she had been laying down at the beginning. Equally obvious, she knew he wouldn't simply accept it. So instead, she had pointed out fiction that had become fact. Still, the converse remained true, some facts in turn could be proven to be fiction. So he needed to decide which of the two fit Rose's story. For this moment, he would strip away disbelief and use what had always served him best, his skills of deduction.

To start with, the story neatly fit within the facts of what he knew to be true of Rose. If true, the facts fit with her origins, her training, and her access to rather remarkable technology. Even the fact that her husband had been half-alien could potentially be verified with the advanced and varied technologies available to her. If he accepted that to be true, disregarding the lack of evidence, how much more of a stretch would it be to believe in parallel universes? Sherlock seemed to recall some theories proposed regarding the potential for such realities.

The crux of the problem lay in the fact that the underlying story involved concepts that had not yet been accepted as true. Theories did exist on alien life and on parallel realities, but these things were so far from his personal interests that his knowledge of them remained limited—something he would have to rectify immediately. While Rose's detail of memory remained too extensive to be something created or implanted in her, she could have been brainwashed to believe the other things were real. However, he had seen her disappear in front of him. He had searched for evidence as to how she had accomplished that trick, and he had not found any. Would it be that large of a stretch to accept that she could jump from place to place, to then accept that she could jump from one world to a parallel version?

Did he believe that Rose Tyler retained her sanity? Another question to be answered in order to determine the verdict. While Ms. Tyler had undergone some extremely stressful encounters and had displayed behaviors consistent with someone who had suffered a great loss, she did not, precisely, act delusional. Her grip on the here and now, as well as her own skills of observation and deduction, remained first rate.

His mind suddenly recalled something he had said to John during the case in Baskerville. _Once you've ruled out the impossible, whatever remains – however improbable – must be true._ He could eliminate many possibilities, and while the absence of proof did not verify a theory, the ability to disprove it rested on facts. That brought him back to the groundwork she had laid in front of him about stories that people once believed impossible becoming fact. Rose wanted him to believe. It may also be why she refused to speak of any of it before he actually asked. Not a single outright hint. Normally, if people held a delusion, they thought others should believe it as well and were not shy about sharing said delusion. No, Rose Tyler remained a woman of secrets, and she had waited until he might be ready to hear it. She had nothing to gain from a fabrication.

His mind couldn't quite accept it as truth—not yet. But every time it tried to reject it, he lacked the evidence to do so. Rose believed it—accepted it as her reality. He admired her, Sherlock quietly admitted to himself. Her strength, skill, knowledge, and clever brain almost made her a match for him. That is where his brain stopped, refusing to go beyond any additional implications, because sentiment remained for the rabble.

Slowly, his eyes refocused on his surroundings, and he realized hours must have passed. Rose was no longer perched on the couch, instead her voice, and John's, came from her small kitchen. Rising up out of his chair, he took slow steps over to that room. When he reached it, he lingered in the doorway. She noticed him first, and Rose turned her head to look at him, her eyes searching his face. John followed her gaze and grinned up at him. "There you are. Rose said you were thinking something over. Have you come to a conclusion?"

Sherlock slid his gaze from Rose's face to John's, noting the slight flash of apprehension in her expression. Normally Sherlock remained rather oblivious to such nuances, but in this moment he saw it and understood. "Lack of proof neither proves nor disproves a theory, so in lieu of evidence, one must accept the possibility until further information is obtained."

John looked at him blankly a moment. "Right, and I'm sure that's very significant, even if have no clue what that is about."

For her part, Rose gave him a warm smile. "Come on. Take a seat. I was just getting tea started."

Sherlock held his position a moment before slowly uncoiling and making his way to a seat at the table. Rose set his mug in front of him, his tea made the way he liked it. Picking it up in one hand, he stared at it in a detached fashion. Rose had made a place for him here, or he had made one for himself, he realized. That thought sat oddly in his head, and he pushed it behind a door to deal with later. Sherlock had been doing that to a number of things—odd feelings, and realizations, all to be dealt with later. After the threat of Moriarty had been resolved, he would have the time to sit down and sort through it. Until then, he needed to keep his focus, and keep Rose Tyler alive and safe.


	17. Chapter 17

Dear Readers, I apologize profusely for the very long gap without an update. I am currently working on one, I do not have an eta for you, but I am working on one. I have not forgotten this fic, or you all, and I hope to finish it. Thanks for bearing with me.


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